Six Minutes

by Petronella McGovern

  ‘Seriously, Julia? One of the playgroup mums was on TV talking about playgroup. It was you.’

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you.’ Tears pooled in her eyes and she grabbed for my wrists. Was she going to admit it? ‘I was in hospital yesterday afternoon. I’ve been having lots of pains. I’m scared there’s something wrong and the baby will come too early.’

  A stab in my abdomen. A phantom memory of my own pregnancy.

  I should have comforted her but I couldn’t. If something happened to the baby, it would be my fault for causing the distress. I couldn’t bear the thought of another casualty. My face wet with tears, I bolted back to the car.

  When I got to Imogen’s house, she brought up the Weekend Wrap program straight away.

  ‘I can’t believe one of us would do that. We support each other. That’s the unspoken rule.’

  ‘Who do you think it is?’

  ‘It has to be Tara.’

  ‘Do you think it will help find Bella? Or will people stop looking?’

  ‘No, no, they’ll keep looking. I’m so sorry, Lexie. It was our fault.’

  Kind, caring Imogen; blaming herself for Bella’s disappearance. It definitely couldn’t have been her on the television.

  I asked the twins the same questions as Morgan. They weren’t interested in talking to me until I produced two lollipops that I’d taken from Bella’s birthday stash.

  ‘We had lollipops at playgroup,’ Matthew said.

  ‘No, we don’t have lollipops at playgroup unless it’s a birthday party,’ Imogen reminded him.

  ‘We did,’ Thomas argued.

  ‘When? Last Thursday?’

  The twins turned to each other and laughed. Then they put a finger over their lips.

  ‘Shh, secret,’ they whispered together.

  ‘You can tell me the secret,’ I said. ‘It might help us find Bella.’

  The boys spoke at the same time.

  ‘No telling,’ said Matthew.

  ‘Lollipops for a treasure hunt,’ Thomas blurted out.

  ‘Inside the playgroup room?’

  The twins nodded. Matthew pushed his brother’s shoulder. ‘Sammy said not to tell.’

  Lollipops from Sammy? It wasn’t like Mel to bring sweets to playgroup.

  ‘Were you playing outside at all?’

  ‘Hide-and-seek! Bella hiding!’ Matthew shouted.

  ‘Dora doll.’ Thomas began singing. ‘Dora—da da da—Dora. Backpack, backpack.’

  As he sang, I could picture the boys when I had opened the playgroup gate. I’d had to put Dora on the ground to pull up the child lock. Then the twins and Sammy had run towards me. Only the three boys had been outside.

  The gate had been locked.

  44

  MARTY

  AT 8 AM, MARTY DRESSED WITHOUT SHOWERING, DETERMINED TO SPEAK to Elissa. He hadn’t slept at all; tossing and turning, his thoughts flickering between Victoria, the missing shoe, Brendan and Elissa. He tried to replay his conversations with Elissa. Marty couldn’t recall mentioning Archie but he’d said plenty about Bella and Victoria and Lexie. He knew there was a playgroup contact list in the kitchen drawer and found the address for Mel. Before sneaking out of the quiet house, he left a note for Lexie. Gone to search for Bella.

  Caruso had left a message reassuring Marty that the police were following up on Brendan Parrish and warning him not to contact the man. Marty had forgotten that a protection order was in place. Fuck that—there should be a protection order banning the teacher from going near teenage girls. At some stage, he’d explain to Victoria that he’d had to tell the police; now they knew everything. It was clear to him that Parrish must have taken Bella to the same house in Ainslie—that would account for the shoe and water bottle at the nearby church. The police had better find Bella this morning and arrest that bastard.

  Hamstrung from approaching Parrish, at least he could sort out Elissa. It was a Monday and she was due at work. Smiling, happy Elissa, not playgroup mum Mel. His gut twisted at the thought of her moving between the two worlds—Marty had imagined that Elissa was his lifeline, his alone. As he checked the house numbers on her street, Marty noticed a light blue people mover backing out of a driveway. He glimpsed the driver: dark hair, full lips—definitely Elissa, or Mel, or whatever he was supposed to call her now. Damn, he’d have to talk to her in the car park at work.

  Following her van, Marty stayed a few cars behind. He didn’t want Mel to see him and have time to prepare a speech. As he imagined how she would answer his questions, he almost missed her turning left onto Cotter Road. So, no work today. Good, they could have the conversation elsewhere. But where was she going? This road led to the river, the bush reserves and some isolated farms. Further out were some settlements: a hippie community in one, rough tattooed blokes in another; he’d seen them occasionally coming into Merrigang shops for supplies. Plus farmers, forestry workers and park rangers. The trouble with this road, though, was its lack of cars. Soon, they’d have to stop at the one-way bridge and Mel might catch sight of him. His Audi was fairly recognisable so Marty slowed and dropped back.

  He dredged his memory for anything his wife had said about Mel after playgroup each week. Usually, Lexie would complain about the twins being aggressive, laugh about how Julia had parenting down to a tight schedule and sympathise with Tara’s lack of sleep. Mel’s name hadn’t come up that often. Relaxed, fun. Bella liked her son, Sammy. The two of them played together most of the time. And that was it.

  But why would Mel not tell him that she was in a playgroup with Lexie? She must have worked out pretty quickly that her playgroup friend was his wife.

  As the road wound down, down into the river valley, the hills on either side grew higher and the clouds above darker. Would they actually get rain today? They were driving into the Brindabella mountain range—the state border into New South Wales. I’m Brinda-Bella. I’m a mountain. He’d promised to take Bella to the Brindabellas and now he realised that he had taken her when they’d gone to Tidbinbilla Nature Reserve on Father’s Day. Driven her there on this actual road. Preoccupied with Victoria and Kimmy’s antics from the previous evening, checking they weren’t having a bad reaction to the ecstasy, he’d forgotten to tell Bella that they were standing in the shadow of her mountains—the Brindabellas. Bella and the teenagers had counted kangaroos and emus, and screamed their way across the flying fox and down the steep slippery slide.

  Up ahead, Mel didn’t follow the route to Tidbinbilla, as Marty expected. Instead, she suddenly turned right into a smaller road, going deeper into the blue hills. One of the settlements flashed past. All new houses, not a hippie commune in sight. He remembered now—this area had been destroyed in the bushfires as well. Almost all the old places were burnt to the ground. I should stop, turn around, go home and talk to Lexie. Tell her about Parrish and the drugs. But he needed to know where Mel was going.

  Once past the houses, Mel sped up. Marty had allowed one car between them—the only other vehicle on the road: an old Land Rover puffing out diesel fumes every time they went up a steep hill. The higher parts of the countryside were now thick forest, while farms were laid out on the gentler slopes in between. Sheep dotted the brown paddocks. Hardly any grass. The farmers must be buying in hay to keep them alive. Did Mel have a friend who lived out here? Or had she seen Marty and decided to lead him on a wild-goose chase as a joke? Another fucking joke—like sitting in his lounge room last night, waiting to surprise him.

  Marty groaned. He should get back. Find out what the police had on Parrish. He was looking for somewhere to turn around when the Land Rover braked in front of him. It was slowing for Mel’s van, which was turning into a dirt track. Marty drove a few hundred metres up the road, found a place to swing the car around, then circled back.

  Pulling over next to the dirt track, he stopped the car and considered his options. The track was surrounded by thick clumps of trees, with no house visible. Wind whipped through the branches above him. Mel might o
wn a farm down that track. Or maybe she’s going bushwalking. Both those possibilities were so unlikely. She’s supposed to be working today. She has never mentioned a farm. As if she’d go bushwalking today, in this weather, with Bella missing, and leave her son at home.

  Where was her son today? he wondered. If only Bella was returned to them, Marty would never let her out of his sight. With a sudden pang he realised: this was how Lexie felt.

  Leaning back against the headrest, Marty bawled, tears and mucus dripping down his face.

  Beautiful, bouncing Bella, the surprise child who had been delivered to them after Archie. To help them survive.

  Archie’s birth was supposed to be a celebration of his new life together with Lexie. Yet despite all his safeguards—the tests, the ultrasounds, the right diet, the right exercise, the best obstetrician—at some point, the baby—his baby—was deprived of oxygen. Marty had been in the delivery suite the whole time. It wasn’t until Archie came out blue, floppy, lifeless, that any of them even realised. Perinatal asphyxia.

  The seizures began a few hours later in the neonatal intensive care unit. Severe hypoxic ischemic encephalopathy. Marty had diagnosed it in other babies, discussed treatment plans and tried to explain it to the shell-shocked parents, whose expectation of a healthy baby had just been shattered. He could recite the statistics. Intrapartum hypoxia affects one to two infants in every thousand live full-term births. Moderate to severe encephalopathy affects 0.5 to one baby in every thousand full-term live births.

  But it was his child lying there in an incubator in the NICU, ventilated, sedated to stop the constant seizures that had his arms and legs twitching.

  Marty had sat in the NICU, almost as unresponsive as his son. Lexie had wailed but Marty was silent. How could he have let this happen to his own baby? He’d saved hundreds of other children.

  Staring at the ventilator, Marty had waited for the moment when Archie would die.

  But his son didn’t die that night.

  Nor the next.

  The NICU team worked hard to keep Archie alive. Later, he wondered if they’d tried especially hard because Marty was one of them. Finally, Archie came off the ventilator and breathed—with difficulty—on his own. At last, Marty could cuddle his son in his arms.

  ‘Good lungs,’ the neonatal nurse had said, smiling down at Archie.

  But not a good prognosis. The medical team had condemned his son to life.

  Eventually they had taken him home. Lexie couldn’t comprehend their son’s future, but he could. Marty had seen it—albeit rarely—in a few patients. Her optimism made him shrink into himself. She didn’t understand. Their son wouldn’t meet any of the baby milestones. From the simplest reflex, like grasping his father’s little finger and swallowing, to the biggest: he would never crawl nor walk nor talk.

  Marty knew the system—he organised home nurses and physio appointments for Archie, support group meetings for Lexie. Then he’d gone back to work. To care for other people’s children.

  Five months later, the unthinkable happened: Lexie fell pregnant. But unlike with Archie’s pregnancy, she was sick. Hyperemesis gravidarum. He’d come home to find Archie fitting in his cot and poor Lexie vomiting in the bathroom. Ironically, it was Yvette Tobin, the physio he’d hired for her compassion, who told the police and the media that Archie’s death was suspicious. Yvette had aimed to crucify them. Had her compassion been nothing but an act?

  Marty mopped his face with a tissue, scrunched it up and placed it in the middle console.

  Mel.

  Elissa.

  He’d ring the volunteer office first. Marty had met Amala when he’d treated her son for continuous, unexplained stomach pains. She’d left a message of support on hearing that Bella was missing.

  ‘I was wondering if you could help me with a quick query, Amala. It’s about one of our volunteers—Elissa Wight.’

  ‘Of course, Dr Parker. Let me just bring up the file.’ Silence, then: ‘Do you spell it W-h-i-t-e?’

  ‘No, W-i-g-h-t.’

  Another silence. ‘Sorry, that name isn’t coming up on the database. Does she have a different legal name?’

  He remembered the name on the playgroup contact list.

  ‘Can you see if she’s listed under Melissa Wainwright?’

  The faint tapping of fingers on a keyboard. ‘Hmm, nothing under that name either.’

  Marty bit his lip and focused on the dirt track in front of him.

  ‘She helps out on the paeds ward. She would have needed a Working with Vulnerable People check.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Dr Parker, her file should be here. I can talk to HR if you like.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Amala, I’ll speak to Elissa directly.’

  Marty ended the call, dropped the phone in his lap and thudded the steering wheel with both hands. Fuck, who was this woman?

  A ghost with two identities.

  FACEBOOK

  Help find Bella Parker Facebook page

  Thank you to everyone who helped in the search over the weekend. We still need your support to find Bella. Please don’t believe everything you hear in the media. Bella’s parents love their little girl and they are desperate to find her. Here’s a photo of her at playgroup from a few weeks ago.

  COMMENTS (208)

  – Bella has obviously been abducted. When will you stop searching?

  – Did you read the Times article? The mum said she was at the shops for ‘373 seconds’. Weird! Was she wearing a stopwatch?

  – Is the church kidnapping kids now? Why were her things found there?

  – Has she been taken by a Yowie? I swear I saw one in Corin Forest last month.

  Did you tell Tim the Yowie Man? He collects info on sightings.

  Don’t be stupid—the yowie is an Aboriginal myth.

  I saw one.

  You were hallucinating.

  45

  LEXIE

  HIDE-AND-SEEK. LOLLIPOPS. A TREASURE HUNT. ON THE SHORT DRIVE to Tara’s house, I wondered if any of this was helping. Was it bringing me closer to working out if Marty was involved? For a moment, I sat in the car and checked my phone. No message from him. I clicked through to find Marty’s location. He wasn’t even near Merrigang—I had to zoom out on the map to realise that his blue dot was miles away, past the settlements and into the Brindabella Ranges. What was he doing there?

  When Tara opened her front door, I had to wipe away the tears again. My first visit to this house should have been for a playdate. I could almost feel Bella at my side, holding my hand, bouncing with excitement at the prospect of playing with Zoe. Does she have a dress-up box?

  Tara was still in her pyjamas, with the baby on her hip.

  ‘I hope I didn’t interrupt feeding,’ I said stiffly. Other people’s lives were going on normally.

  ‘No, I was about to put her down for a sleep.’

  Tara jiggled Daisy and cooed at her. Watching them made my empty arms ache.

  ‘Could I come in for a quick a chat?’ I asked.

  ‘Um … okay. You’ll have to excuse the mess.’

  I followed her into the lounge room, weaving between toys scattered across the carpet. Zoe lounged in a pink beanbag watching Peppa Pig on a big TV. Her eyes were glued to the screen and she didn’t answer my greeting. Some people apologised for the mess when their house wasn’t quite immaculate, but that wasn’t Tara. The dining table still had dirty plates and cups from breakfast. In the kitchen, I could see old dishes and packets of bread and biscuits out on the benchtops.

  Tara clutched Daisy in her arms as though protecting her from me. The baby’s sleeping issues showed on Tara’s face—dark under the eyes, pale cheeks, her red hair limp and unwashed. She looked like me. The people who said the baby years were the best time of their lives hadn’t dealt with this. For Tara, a baby who wouldn’t sleep. For me, a baby in pain who needed constant medical attention while we were confused and fearful.

  Could Tara really be the one who had betrayed me on t
he Weekend Wrap? It seemed like she didn’t have enough energy to get dressed, let alone ring up a reporter. I hoped her husband was helping out.

  She put Daisy onto the floor with a toy and cleared a space at the dining table.

  ‘It wasn’t my fault, Lexie,’ she said before I could ask a question. ‘I was feeding Daisy. Zoe stayed inside and played in the home corner. I was breastfeeding and I didn’t move the whole time.’

  ‘So if you were sitting there, did you see where everyone else was?’

  ‘No, I was concentrating on Daisy. The others were looking after Bella and the big kids.’

  Tara had been so wrapped up in her own baby that she didn’t even notice Bella had gone. It could have been any of the kids, I suddenly realised. No-one was paying enough attention. We all thought we were in a safe environment.

  ‘Can I ask Zoe about it?’

  ‘Yeah, but she doesn’t know anything—and she won’t be happy about turning off Peppa Pig.’

  Dressed in pink polka dot pyjamas, her hair mussed up, Zoe was so solid, so real, so here. I replaced Peppa Pig with a stack of blocks on the carpet, and Zoe began building with me. She didn’t scream about the television going off as Tara had predicted. Instead, she smiled and offered me a green block to begin the pile.

  ‘Is Bella home now?’ The little girl looked at me hopefully. ‘Can I come to her birthday party?’

  ‘If you can help me, Zoe, I’m hoping we can have her birthday party. Did you have a treasure hunt on Thursday at playgroup?’

  ‘Mm, red lollipop. Yum.’

  ‘Do you know who made the treasure hunt? Who hid the lollies?’

  ‘Sammy said it was a secret.’ Zoe put a small hand over her mouth. ‘Uh-oh.’

  ‘It’s okay, Zoe, you’re allowed to tell me. Did you see any strangers in the playground?’

  The little girl shook her head.

  ‘Did you see Bella leave the playgroup room?’

  She shook her head again, frowned and thought hard.

  ‘Bella has a sore arm.’