by Anni Taylor
I couldn’t stay here in this street for very long—too many reminders of the past. But I’d need a job if I were to move somewhere else. I couldn’t imagine what my resume would say. Out-of-work actor. No experience in any field other than acting. Needs to answer to her psychiatrist on a daily basis. Not good with children.
Yes, that should get me a decent job.
A chill breeze blew around my ears. I continued on up the hill.
Before I could think of leaving Nan’s, I had to concentrate on getting better. I’d try Dr Moran’s small steps and see where it took me.
It took less than ten minutes to reach Pria’s house, but it wasn’t a walk for the faint-hearted. The hill rose sharply, and the vigorous roots of Moreton Bay figs lifted up the pathway everywhere. The house lots became larger and more impressive the farther up the hill you went, the homes high and imposing and kept behind ivy-covered walls. The gardens looked healthier and more abundant, as though the very air up here nourished them.
I didn’t know many of the people on the highest part of the hill, apart from Pria and Kate. The people mostly kept to themselves. I knew everyone at the lower end.
After Tommy had gone missing, it hadn’t been any different. The people from the high end would gently grasp my arm and hand me platitudes in lowered tones. Oh, it’s shocking. I don’t know how you’re managing. The people on the lower end would march right up to me and they’d say, If I get my hands on the animal who took Tommy, I won’t think twice before ripping his guts out and stuffing them down his throat until he chokes. Intellectual-me wanted no such thing. Gouging out someone’s entrails wouldn’t do a single thing to change the terrible thing they’d done. But the dark-night-of-the-soul-me fed hungrily on the entrails rants. The rants were raw and on the same level as my rage. The people at the high end brought me food on pretty plates and left like angels in the night. I didn’t want their food. I had no appetite. I wanted rage. I needed rage. Because the rage would sustain me.
But in truth, the force-feed him his own guts people didn’t share my pain. They wanted retribution for the sake of it. I didn’t want retribution as much as I wanted Tommy. A memory flashed through my mind of his soft little cheek against mine and the sound of him whispering in his croaky toddler voice, Mama. Sssh, Mama shweep now . . .
I reached Pria’s house and climbed the time-worn stairs that had been cut into the boulders. I smiled at the alcove in the rockery where Pria kept a collection of naughty gnomes that mooned the unwary.
I heard Kate’s kids charging about the moment Pria opened the door, their voices ear splitting as they squealed.
Pria and Kate pulled me inside—Pria still in her work gear and Kate in her usual gym clothing.
“Oh, honey.” Pria hugged me.
Kate threw her arms around me next. “I can’t believe it. Seriously. It’s just—” She shook her head.
“It’s been going on for a while,” I admitted. “I just ignored it, I think.”
“You’re the best thing that happened to Luke,” Kate told me, her eyes wet. “Really. What was he thinking?”
“He’ll make the right decision, in the end.” Pria pulled her hair loose of its tight bun. “That’s one thing about him that’s always stood.”
It was almost strange hearing Kate and Pria talk about Luke in such knowing terms. But of course, they’d both known him as long as I had. They’d each even been his girlfriend.
“Any more news about the letters?” Kate asked me.
“Not a thing. My psych advised me to try to stop thinking about them. Leave it to the police.” I knew that talking about letting the police do their job and following my psych’s advice would appeal to Kate and Pria.
“Good idea. They’ll get it sorted,” Kate said, as I expected she would.
“Your psych sounds wise.” Pria indicated towards the other end of the house. “C’mon, I think we all need a nice glass of chilled wine.” She took us through to the kitchen and poured three glasses of white wine.
The house had barely changed since I was a kid. Mahogany wood surfaces gleamed everywhere. Enormous paintings of the harbour claimed the walls, and the same ornate furniture stood in the rooms. A steady hum of air flowed from the air conditioning vents. The clocks were new—they ticked in every room. Pria had told me she held her psychotherapy sessions in different downstairs rooms, wherever a client felt most comfortable—and she liked the clocks so that she could keep an inconspicuous eye on the time, rather than checking her watch. Some clients preferred to stretch out on the sofa. Others liked to sit and drink coffee at the kitchen bench. Still others liked the plant-filled atmosphere of the sunroom.
Instinctively, Pria led Kate and me along the long, dark hallway to the sunroom. We curled up our legs on the round wicker chairs, letting the afternoon sun spill on our faces from the skylight.
Kate’s twin girl and boy—Orianthe and Otto—giggled as they played hide-and-seek around the large potted ferns. They were three. Not that much older than Tommy would be now. Orianthe had her father’s blond hair and determined eyes. Otto had his mother’s softer, dark-haired looks. Orianthe was the definite boss of the game, staunchly refusing to be the one to seek. She insisted on being the one to hide.
“Kids, go play outside,” called Kate. She shot me a look that I was sure was meant to look exasperated, but instead it looked apologetic. I’d only seen the twins three times since Tommy went missing, and each time, Kate had looked apologetic. As though she needed to be sorry that she had kids that hadn’t been abducted, like my child had.
“They’re having fun,” I protested. But the kids had already run from the room. In truth, I was glad. I did find it hard just looking at them, feeling the absence of Tommy crush me even more.
I glanced around the sunroom. This room was my favourite. The wood-panelled walls, wicker chairs, hat stand, and ferns had always reminded me of a detective noir movie. It occurred to me that Detective Trent Gilroy would look at home here, dressed in a double-breasted suit, the statistical-blip crease in his forehead deeply furrowed as he puzzled over a case.
My fantasy detective noir Trent would figure out a vital clue about Tommy’s disappearance, and he’d leave in a hurry, hot on the trail. And he’d find the kidnapper. Because in a movie, the detective always found the kidnapper.
A sharp half sigh caught in my chest.
Pria tilted her head, a sad, warm expression entering her eyes. “How are you? We didn’t get that much of a chance to talk to you on Saturday. Too much to catch up on with all of us together. Plus, you fell asleep on us!”
I smiled. “Getting by.”
“I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you too. I’ve just been so. . .”
“I get it. People distance themselves sometimes. It’s a kind of protective shield.”
“Yes, it’s been like that. How about you? What’s been happening? Didn’t you say you met someone new?”
An uncertain but happy smile dimpled her cheeks. “Yep. It’s mostly a long-distance thing, so we’re both trying to figure out how this is going to work.”
“Is there a possibility he might leave the navy?”
She looked hopeful for a moment then shrugged a shoulder almost defensively. “Well, who knows? That would be fantastic, but it’s his career. I’d like to think that we can meet somewhere in the middle and make some kind of new beginning, whatever that means.”
I gave Pria a crossed-fingers gesture then turned to Kate. “How about you, Kate? What’s happening?”
“I’m just flat out with the twins, I guess,” she told me. “I did some work for a Kmart clothing catalogue last week. I get two or three jobs a fortnight, usually. Elliot doesn’t like me to do too many jobs. He fractured his foot a few days ago, running after some little ratbag fourteen-year-old who was spraying graffiti on a wall. So, he’s been at home for a while, doing a Netflix marathon.”
“Does Elliot know you graffitied a wall once?” Pria teased.
; Kate sipped her wine. “Someone should have arrested me.”
Kate was so different to how she used to be. I wasn’t sure, but it seemed to me that she changed after that day at house number 29, thirteen years ago. Maybe she felt bad that we never told the police what really happened. Now, anyone breaking the law was a criminal in her eyes. No shades of grey. And it wasn’t just that. Kate used to be bold and independent, but now Elliot’s decisions ruled her. She had an almost child/parent relationship with her husband. She actually called him her captain and herself his co-captain.
Footsteps echoed from the floorboards in the hall.
Jessie—pigtailed hair tucked under a straw hat and school bag on her shoulder—poked her head around the sunroom door. Her face lit up when she saw Kate and me.
“Phoebe!” She circled around the ferns to hug her mother and then Kate and me.
I squeezed her small body. “How was school?”
“It was okay,” she answered.
Pria checked her watch. “You’re six minutes late.”
She turned to her mother. “I stopped to play with Mrs Wick’s cat. And then Bernice started talking to me.”
A frown crossed Pria’s forehead. “Don’t do that again. And don’t talk to Bernice either. She isn’t a very nice person.”
Pria, Kate, and I exchanged glances. We—along with Sass and Luke—knew things about Bernice Wick that no one else did. A faint queasiness rose in my stomach.
“She’s nice to me.” Jessie looked from her mother to me. “She told me she makes model ships with matchsticks and I could come in and see them, if I was allowed to.”
“You’re not allowed,” Pria said quickly.
Jessie nodded, though her eyes were dubious. I knew she wanted backup from Kate and me, but we had none to offer.
“Sweetie,” I said. “I just don’t think she’s someone you should be talking to. I’d listen to your mum.”
Kate screwed up her forehead. “She’s just strange.”
I snatched Jessie’s hat playfully from her head. “Anyway, tell me what you did at school today.”
Jessie let her bag slide from her shoulder. The thought niggled at me that she didn’t quite believe either of us about Bernice, but it was hard to tell with Jess. She often seemed secretive.
Dropping her bag next to one of the wicker chairs, Jessie wriggled back on the chair’s cushion and sat cross-legged. “We practised for our school play.”
“A play?” I raised my eyebrows. “Cool. I used to love those when I was at school. What’s this one about?”
“It’s from the book, Little Women.”
“And what are you doing in the play?” I asked.
She cast a sideways glance at her mother before looking back at me. “I’m Beth.”
“Beth?” Pria shook her head, setting her glass of wine down on the table. “You were supposed to be playing Josephine.”
“I know. But Bree wanted to play Josephine really, really bad. And the drama teacher agreed that she’d be better as her. So we swapped.”
“She knows just how to get around you, that Bree.” Pria was still shaking her head. “She’s a piece of work. She and her mother. All sweetness to your face and lemons behind your back. Well, you can march down there tomorrow and tell Bree you changed your mind.”
“I can’t change my mind. We already told Mrs Simmons.” Jessie drew her knees up to her chest, half-hiding her face.
“Mrs Simmons gave you the role of Josephine for a reason,” Pria snapped. “You’re perfect for the part. Are you now supposed to play a bit part just because Bree wants the spotlight?”
I watched the exchange between mother and daughter, surprised at Pria’s strident tone.
“I don’t want to talk about the play anymore.” Jessie’s voice grew small and tight. She left her chair, heading out of the room. “Going to get something to eat.”
Pria sighed loudly, throwing up her hands. “I don’t know what to do with her. She’s done two years of drama, and she’s excellent. She finally gets a role where she can show what she can do, and she lets Miss Bossy Boots Bree walk all over her.”
“Maybe you can talk to her teacher.” I tried to understand Pria’s tone with Jessie. The scene had been uncomfortable to watch.
A deeper part of me wondered how much further I could have gone if my mother had been like Pria. The kids who acted in movies had parents who were behind them every step of the way, if not pushing, at least encouraging them forward. I’d had none of that. My mother had been fearful of the world. In her eyes, the day wasn’t something to seize, it was something to survive.
“You betcha. I can’t believe Mrs Simmons just let this happen.” Pria squeezed her eyes closed then, giving a short laugh. “Okay, I’m not going to let this get to me. Jessie’s on her own journey. Sooner or later, she’s going to have to figure out that if you want something, you have to go for it. If you keep giving things away, you’ll end up with nothing but regret.”
Kate shrugged at me. “Well, I know one thing about my twins. They’re not going to be models. I already tried them out for catalogue work. Within the first ten minutes, Orianthe informed me that she doesn’t like to do boring things and that modelling’s boring. And she’s not going to let her brother do boring things either.”
I laughed.
The cries of the twins pealed down the hallway as they bounded inside and called Jessie’s name. They must have discovered she was home.
“Hey, where’s the pup?” I asked Pria. “Can I see him? Jessie said he’s growing big.”
Immediately, Pria rolled her eyes and made a low disparaging sound. “I sent Buster out with the dog walker as soon as I knew Kate was coming over with the kids. He’d knock them flying. Wish I’d never bought him, to tell you the truth. After the break-in, I wanted a watchdog, but I should have paid more attention to the breed. He’s damned strong—even though he’s only nine months old. And he snaps. To tell you the truth, I’m a bit scared of the mutt. I’m having a dog trainer try to rein him in, but if that doesn’t work, he’s gone.”
“What a shame,” I said. “Jess told me she’d like to walk the dog sometimes, but that’s not sounding good.”
“Nope. The only thing I got right about him is his name. Because Buster has busted everything from doors to shoes.” She shook her head, a sorry smile on her face.
The sound of the three children playing became too much. Tommy had once run through this house, too.
I stayed for a while longer then made an excuse to leave.
29.
PHOEBE
Tuesday night
STORM CLOUDS PUSHED INTO THE SKY, making the day darken a good hour before the incoming night. The heavy atmosphere pressed down on me. I opened the window of my bedroom upstairs at Nan’s house, letting the chill air stream in.
I could only just catch a glimpse of the water from here. An enormous cruise liner dominated the harbour, staining the water red and blue with its lights.
Maybe my small step in seeing Pria and Kate earlier had helped my frame of mind, but I didn’t feel it yet. I was back at square one. I began pacing the room, feeling unhinged. Things were all so in between.
Dr Moran hadn’t succeeded in jogging my memory about the letters. She’d said she didn’t think it was possible to do all that I’d done in sleepwalking sessions and so the memory should still be in my mind somewhere. True sleepwalkers rarely remembered their dreams.
Not remembering any of it was the most disturbing thing of all.
It wasn’t the first time I’d forgotten things. With the binge drinking and the trauma of losing Tommy, there were gaps in my memory. But not a fucking chasm. And forgetting the writing of three notes and delivering them was a fucking chasm.
Nan called me for dinner, and we ate the pumpkin soup together. I’d tried watching one of her sitcoms with her after that, but I gave up halfway through. I headed back upstairs. Surprisingly, I was tired enough to sleep. I crawled into bed and let mys
elf drift off.
I woke just before four thirty in the morning. The temperature had plummeted—I guessed it was below ten degrees.
I’d been dreaming. The dream had been of the last day that Sass, Luke, Pria, Kate, and I had ever been to house number 29. I used to have nightmares about it all the time. But not since I was a teenager.
I’d spent my life blocking out that memory.
The only adults who knew about the terrible thing that Bernice did that day were Luke and Bernice’s mothers. They’d told us it was best for everyone to just let it go. And so we’d let it go.
But you couldn’t really fully ever let go of something that had hold of you.
There were two things that Bernice did—when she was fourteen and when she was nineteen. The first thing was not so bad. But the second was something only God could forgive.
I could almost smell the dust and slight odour of mould and the old musky aftershave in the bedrooms of that house.
That was our place back then. No one ever came there but us.
We started coming to number 29 when Kate, Pria, Luke, and I were ten and Sass was eleven and Bernice was thirteen. We made the abandoned house our own. Each of us either brought something there or changed things in order to put our individual stamp on the house.
Sass decorated it with signs that she’d pilfered. She was hugely into signage.
Pria drew rude things on the prints hanging on the walls.
Kate rescued some sad-looking pot plants from the courtyard and nursed them back to life then arranged them in the living room—to clean the foul air, she’d said. She glued together a large, broken dollhouse she’d found in an upstairs room, and then she posed rat skeletons on the furniture. Kate used to be weird like that.