Cross My Heart

by Pamela Cook

  ‘I’m a human resources manager. I have my own consultancy.’

  ‘So you would be financially able to care for Grace?’

  ‘Yes. Absolutely.’

  Another scribble in the file. Surely financial stability had to count for something? ‘Have you discussed this with your husband?’

  ‘We’ve … talked about it.’ Finally, they’d come to the point of the meeting. She’d started off on the wrong foot, given the wrong impression about why she was here. ‘To be perfectly honest …’

  ‘Let me be totally honest with you, Mrs De Santis.’

  The sudden, incorrect change in title niggled, but there were more important issues at stake. If the woman wanted the floor, she could go for her life. In the end, the outcome would be the same. Tess crossed her legs and gave a slight nod.

  ‘If there was any extended family in this case, we would prefer Grace be placed with them. Are you aware of any relatives who might be able to take her in?’

  ‘No.’ The short, single syllable came out far too loud and Regina Martin widened her brown eyes. Tess’s stomach hollowed. She made a conscious effort to lower her volume, soften her tone. ‘I was the closest thing to family after the death of Skye’s grandmother.’ It was the absolute truth. Family wasn’t just about blood. She was right there in the room when Grace was born, watching on as the midwife laid the tiny bundle on her friend’s chest, those smoky eyes looking up into her mother’s. Days later, as they had sat together on the lounge of Skye’s rented flat watching the baby sleep, Skye had taken her hand.

  Promise me you’ll take care of her if anything happens to me.

  Those had been her exact words.

  ‘And you are one hundred percent sure you can provide a safe, loving, long-term home for the child, as her mother wished?’

  ‘Yes.’ The word sprang from Tess’s lips, the same answer she’d given her friend. Wherever it had come from, there was no taking it back. Not then. Not now.

  ‘In that case, I’m going to need to set up an interview with you and your husband.’

  ‘But he isn’t listed as a legal guardian.’

  ‘No, but since I assume Grace will be living with both of you … there are protocols we need to follow.’ Regina Martin gave a soft smile. She seemed to be thawing. ‘I’m sure you understand.’

  ‘Of course.’ This conversation was not what she’d intended when she’d walked inside the building. Or was it?

  ‘I suggest you talk this through very carefully. Taking on someone else’s child is no picnic.’

  How the hell was she going to break the news to Josh?

  So, babe, I’m sure you won’t mind, but …

  I know this wasn’t what you were expecting …

  Can we talk about this calmly …?

  ‘And there’s something you should know about Grace.’ The serious tone in the woman’s voice drowned out the practice questions. ‘She’s extremely withdrawn. Hasn’t spoken a word since she’s been taken into care.’

  ‘Isn’t that normal, though, considering she’s just lost her mother?’

  ‘Yes. And no.’ She folded her arms and tapped the pen against her bottom lip. ‘You just need to be aware, there could potentially be some deep-seated emotional or behavioural issues.’

  With all the focus on guardianship, there’d been no discussion of how this whole situation had come about in the first place. A part of Tess didn’t want to know, wanted to just sign on the dotted line and get as far away as possible. But if she was going to be Grace’s foster-mother she needed to know the details, for better or worse. And wasn’t there a tiny part of her that wanted to know the truth? She ran her tongue over her lips and forced herself to look straight at Regina Martin. ‘Do you know what happened to Skye? How she died?’

  ‘Didn’t the police inform you? You were named in the legal documents they found in the house.’

  ‘I haven’t been contacted by anyone except this department.’ Tess scrunched her toes inside her shoes. Josh always harangued her about not listening to her phone messages. Maybe he was right.

  ‘Grace was the one who reported her mother’s death.’ Regina Martin sighed, the air leaving her body like a deflating balloon. ‘She found her, in bed. The coroner requested a post-mortem, but I’m not sure what the outcome was in the end … There was some evidence to suggest it might have been suicide.’

  The room began to spin. Tess gripped the edge of the desk, tried to anchor herself by staring at the small wooden elephant, but it blurred into a trio. She closed her eyes to focus on her breathing, and when she opened them again a tumbler of water appeared in front of her. Regina Martin was looking down with motherly concern.

  Tess held the glass with two hands and took a sip. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I take it the news has come as a shock. I’m so sorry.’

  She should ask for more information, find out the details, but an image of her friend’s lifeless body was already forming. She stood and placed the half-empty glass on the desk. ‘How quickly can the approval interview be arranged?’

  Regina Martin took up her seat and peered at the screen of her computer as she typed. ‘I can definitely organise something for Tuesday next week.’

  ‘Nothing sooner?’

  ‘Today is Friday. Tuesday at eleven am would be the earliest.’

  Naturally, the wheels of officialdom did not spin on weekends. ‘Alright. We’ll see you then.’ We. Tess and Josh. The new parents. ‘What’s the procedure after that?’

  ‘Assuming you’re given approval, you should be able to take Grace home by the end of the week.’

  ‘Next Friday?’

  ‘Correct. Paperwork takes time, I’m afraid.’ She shook her head apologetically. ‘Nothing moves quickly in community services.’

  ‘So what happens to her in the meantime?’

  ‘Grace is being looked after by a qualified carer in a transitional facility.’

  ‘An orphanage?’

  ‘We no longer have orphanages. The children are placed in temporary care in strictly supervised homes.’

  So Grace was grieving and alone. Friday was another week away. ‘Is there any chance I could visit her over the weekend?’

  Regina Martin drummed her short, neat nails against the desktop, a soft light growing in her eyes. ‘Look, it’s not something I’d usually approve.’ She spoke conspiratorially, as if she was afraid the room might be bugged. ‘But since this case is quite unusual, I suppose I can allow a short visit in the morning.’ She pulled a Post-It Note from a holder on her desk, jotted something down from the file and handed it across to Tess. ‘Here’s the address. I’ll let the carer know you and your husband will be there at ten am.’

  Tomorrow morning. Josh had a bike trip this weekend. ‘Ah …’

  Regina Martin was already moving out from behind her desk. ‘Keep in mind that Grace is in a very fragile state. Don’t make any promises and don’t mention anything about what happened to her mother.’

  Right. No promises. No mention of Skye.

  ‘I’ll see you and your husband back here on Tuesday.’ The door opened and they stepped out into the overly heated hallway. ‘And, Tess …’

  The sudden use of her first name pulled Tess up short. ‘I’m very sorry about your friend.’

  There had been a few difficult moments during the interview, but this woman had a heart. Summoning a smile was simply too hard. ‘Thank you.’ She made her way downstairs and out onto the street, leaning against the rough brick of the building as she tried to process what had happened. Had she really just agreed to be a foster-parent? How would Grace react to meeting her? And what was she going to say to Josh?

  And then there was the question she needed to ask above all the rest but didn’t want to know the answer to at all.

  Why did Skye kill herself?

  Three

  The bus scraped against the kerb and Tess shuffled forward on autopilot along with the crowd of late-afternoon travellers. Most of
her day since arriving at the office had been the same: people talking at her and her mouth moving in response, her face forming the appropriate expressions, but behind the mask was the feeling of having just been dumped by an errant wave. And not quite surfacing. Processing the meeting about Grace was one thing, the news about Skye’s death was something else completely. Work had provided the necessary distraction, but now that she was wedged against the window, staring out at the evening bottleneck of traffic through finger-smeared glass, the horrible finality of it all was unavoidable.

  Suicide.

  Skye had killed herself. Or at least that’s what the police suspected. There would be a coroner’s report, based on the post-mortem and whatever evidence was found at the time, but it wouldn’t include the cause, the truth concealed deep inside such a desperate act.

  A bell chimed on Tess’s phone and a calendar notification appeared on the screen. Dad’s Birthday dinner seven pm. Shit. Sitting through a cheery family gathering was the last thing she needed tonight, especially when she had far more urgent matters to discuss at home. All day she’d resisted the urge to throw up, had swallowed it down through meeting after meeting, but now she was being dragged back onto this morning’s rollercoaster of emotion and there was a good chance she would actually heave. Closing her eyes and trying to breathe only made it worse: the sour tang of body odour from the man beside her sent her stomach into a spin. Jumping to her feet, she climbed over the top of her fellow passenger and hit the buzzer, weaving her way down the aisle until she reached the front of the bus. Thank God the driver had the good sense to pull up at the next stop. Right outside a pub, where she no doubt looked like she’d had one too many, but the rough brick façade was as good a wall as any to lean against. Keeping down the meagre morsels of food she’d consumed today was far more important than keeping up appearances.

  The buzz of a phone.

  A text from Josh. Going to be late. I’ll Uber and meet you at your parents’.

  He’d remembered the dinner. She texted back, Okay. See you soon. Surely he would know better than to mention anything about what had happened in front of her family. Best to make sure, so she added a second message: Don’t mention anything about Skye at dinner. Might spoil the party.

  Time was getting on. She needed to get back to the apartment, pick up the car and get to her parents’ place on time, or her head could very well be served up on a platter along with the tiramisu. She cringed at the mental image: far too frivolous in light of today’s news. A taxi appeared in the stream of cars and she hailed it down, climbing in and resting her head against the back of the seat, finding refuge in the chatter of drive-time radio. All she wanted to do was go home and crawl into bed, wake up in some new existence where the last twenty-four hours had never happened. Pray for a sliding-doors moment so she could hop in the car this weekend and do the four-hour drive to Weerilla to see her old friend again.

  Alive.

  The cabbie jammed his foot on the brake, jerking her forward, and she braced herself against the front headrest.

  ‘Sorry, love.’ He had the grace to look mildly apologetic as he shrugged in the rear-view mirror.

  Tess slumped back against the seat, sighing aloud as they started moving again. There would be no road trip to the countryside, no warm and fuzzy reunion. No more chances to make amends. And there was no avoiding the truth about Skye. Or Grace. For the next few hours at least, she could hide behind her father’s birthday celebrations, delay the inevitable, awkward conversation she would be having soon with Josh and continue doing what she’d become so skilled at over the last twenty years.

  Pretend.

  ‘Is that you, Tess?’ Her mother’s voice cut through the babble coming from the kitchen.

  Tess paused by the hall stand, checking her face in the mirror. Dark shadows circled her eyes, standing out against the ghostly pallor of her skin. She gave her cheeks a good, hard pinch. Maybe the rush of blood would make her look a little less like an extra from The Walking Dead.

  ‘Tessa?’

  There it was, the frantic tone, the soundtrack to every family function. Her reflection frowned back at her. The pinching hadn’t exactly worked—in fact, it had given her two angry patches rather than a healthy glow, but that would have to do.

  ‘Yeah, it’s me, Mum.’ Judging by the voices making up the kitchen chorus, she was the last—almost—to arrive. The closer she got, the louder the volume and the more she wished she’d called to say she was feeling sick. It wouldn’t have been a lie.

  ‘Hello, darling. I was getting worried. Where’s Josh?’ Her mother’s face was as flushed as her own was pale.

  ‘Sorry, I meant to call.’

  Her mother scowled, then recovered with a welcoming smile.

  ‘Josh should be here soon. Don’t wait to serve, though.’

  ‘Hey.’ Rob appeared from behind, poking Tess in the ribs before dragging her into a suffocating hug. ‘How’s my little sister?’

  ‘Your only sister is fine.’ She rubbed at her face as he let her go. ‘You might want to think about shaving sometime soon.’

  ‘Nah, Ally likes me rugged.’ He gave her a goofy grin. It was hard to take him seriously when he looked like Bear Grylls. ‘You look like crap by the way.’

  ‘Yeah, long-distance flights followed by a day of meetings will do that to you. Where is your better half anyway?’ Usually, the family banter bored her senseless, but tonight the dependable monotony of it was a soothing balm.

  Rob nodded his head towards the living room. ‘Just changing Ethan. Giving Dad a few pointers.’

  ‘I could never get him to change his own children’s nappies, so I wish her luck with that!’ Her mother’s indignation was the perfect accompaniment to the lavish arrangement of food on the bench.

  ‘Now, now, Beth, don’t go defaming a man when he’s not around to defend himself.’ The birthday boy appeared, carrying his grandson, who had a fist in his mouth and drool coating his chin.

  ‘Happy birthday, Dad.’ Tess hugged her father while the baby flashed a gummy smile.

  ‘Thanks, princess.’

  ‘Tess might want a cuddle with Ethan.’

  ‘No, not at the moment.’ Her mother never missed an opportunity to drag her into the baby thing, but she’d perfected the art of ducking and weaving. ‘Might just grab a drink.’

  ‘Fine. Dinner’s ready.’ Her mother rushed past, a huge dish of steaming lasagne in her oven-mitted hands.

  There was a frenzy of movement and plate passing as they all took their seats. Ally popped through the doorway, blew Tess a kiss and slipped in beside Rob. She was a tiny woman, her long blonde hair pulled up into a ponytail so tight her head must be seriously aching. She leaned across to Ethan, now strapped into a high chair, and wiped his face with the Spiderman bib slung across his chest. Everyone was in their allotted place, Tess in the seat she’d sat in all her life, opposite her brother and to the left of her father, with her mother at the other end of the table. The seat beside her was conspicuously empty.

  ‘So, where’s Superboy?’ Rob asked.

  Tess really was too tired for Rob’s teasing tonight. After a lifetime of being the youngest in the family, she’d learned how to let it go. She made sure her voice was light when she answered. ‘He’s been caught up at work, but he shouldn’t be long.’ Thankfully, Adrian was off somewhere in the wilds of South America climbing mountains, so there was only one of her brothers here to do the tormenting.

  ‘How was your trip, Tessie?’

  Good old Dad, breezing through life with his rose-coloured specs firmly in place.

  ‘Busy but good.’

  Her mother’s eye roll was standard. She always carried on about how Tess needed to slow down, take things easier, even though she had no idea about life in the corporate world. One day she might get over the fact that Tess had refused to become a teacher, or carry on the family tradition and become a teacher-librarian. Probably not. You’d think she’d be satisfied with h
aving a daughter-in-law who taught kindergarten, but it only seemed to make her more irritated with her own daughter’s choice of career. Tonight was not, however, the night to tackle that particular issue. Tonight was all about survival.

  The table was crammed with the usual menu: pasta, garlic bread, gnocchi, polenta. It was all too much, especially when the Italian blood was on her father’s side and he was as Anglo as a shrimp on the barbie. Tess picked at her food, staying firmly under the radar as the conversation bounced from stories about her absent brother’s mountaineering adventures to Ethan’s latest growth spurt, Rob’s new building project and her father’s current exploits on the golf course.

  When the doorbell chimed, her mother was out of her seat and practically running down the hall in a matter of seconds. She had a huge crush on Josh, despite having two sons of her own. Was it sweet or sickening? If Tess had turned up this late for a special dinner, her mum would have given her the silent treatment for hours.

  ‘Not a problem at all, love, I’ll just pop your dinner in the microwave. You sit yourself down. Would you like a beer?’ So much fawning. Definitely sickening.

  ‘Thanks. That’d be great.’ Josh appeared, brushing a kiss against Tess’s cheek. ‘Hey, sorry I’m late.’ He continued on to the end of the table, clapped her father’s shoulder and shook his hand. ‘Happy birthday, Tony. Had a good day?’

  ‘Thanks, mate. Not bad. Got in a round of golf, beat the pants off the other blokes, and knocked back a few brews at the club.’

  ‘Excellent. Better than a day at work.’ Josh hovered, pushing his tortoise-shell-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. He’d loosened his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his business shirt, trying to bridge the gap between work wear and family dinner. If Rob made the tired joke about him being Clarke Kent’s doppelgänger again, there was a pretty good chance Tess would lose her shit.

  ‘You’re not wrong.’ Her father was still rambling. ‘Retirement’s the best thing that’s happened to me.’