by Pamela Cook
She rubbed at the bony arch of her eyebrow. Had she lied? Maybe. Or maybe she just hadn’t thought it through because it had suited her still-raw disgust with the world. Before she’d learned to put it under lock and key. But this wasn’t about them having their own kids, this was about Grace. About Skye. It was about something she had to do. Her decision this morning in the FACS office might have been impulsive, but there was no question she’d made the right choice. ‘She doesn’t have anyone else, Josh.’
‘Tess, this is huge.’
‘I know.’
He sighed, his body slumping as if an enormous load had just been dumped on him. In a sense it had, and at least he was trying to be honest. They’d always been about the plan, especially Josh, and this was so far left of their plan it was hard to comprehend. She squeezed his arm. ‘It scares me shitless, too, but I’ll never be able to live with myself if I don’t do this.’
He remained rigid, unreachable, as he gripped the back of the chair, head bowed. Putting any more pressure on him would be a mistake; it was better to let him process. Tess let her hand fall and finally he straightened up. ‘I need some time to think about it.’
‘Okay.’
‘I have the bike trip tomorrow. I’m going to bed.’ He walked away from her and up the stairs.
The bedroom door banged shut and she let out a breath. Sleeping would not be an option for her tonight, so she may as well have a coffee. Nothing had been resolved really and there was the visit to Grace in the morning. Yet another lie of omission, but one best kept under wraps for now. The kettle droned robotically as she scanned the pristine space of their apartment. Would it pass muster when Regina Martin came for the inspection? Would she and Josh, for that matter? All those happy snaps hanging like question marks on the wall of the FACS office. Were the two of them really up to parenting Grace, even if Josh did agree to come along for the ride? Traumatised. Withdrawn. Possible emotional issues. All details she’d neglected to share with her husband, the foster-father by default. Water bubbled, violently rattling the stainless-steel kettle until it switched itself off with a high-pitched bing.
Instant would do the job at this time of night. She heaped in a generous spoonful and filled it to the brim. It tasted like dirt but had the zing she needed and the liquid burn she craved. I don’t know if I can do this, Josh had said. And yet, for her it seemed almost like a gift. A second chance at getting things right. Whatever it was, she couldn’t let Skye down again.
An ordinary suburban house in an ordinary suburban street. Hardly the stuff of nightmares, and yet Tess’s insides were quivering like jelly.
She needed to get over herself, stop being such a wimp. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the gift bag she was carrying as the gate opened with a whine and clanged shut behind her. It wasn’t just the prospect of meeting Grace that was making her sick to the stomach, it was the whole situation. There’d been no opportunity to resolve things with Josh before he had headed off with his cycling crew. Any further discussion about fostering would have to wait until late tomorrow, but at least if things went well this morning she could give him a positive report. Two more short steps to the door and she pressed the bell before she could change her mind. The carer had gone through the rules when Tess had called to confirm the visit and let her know she’d be coming on her own: keep the conversation light and neutral, don’t ask any potentially upsetting questions, and above all, don’t make any reference to adoption.
Or Skye.
The front door swung open and a round-faced woman smiled from behind the wire screen. ‘You must be Tess. I’m Kirsten. Come on in.’
‘Thank you.’ She seemed nice, normal, like the house.
‘Grace is watching television.’ Kirsten started down the hallway, tucking a strawberry-blonde strand of hair behind one ear. She was wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, possibly a better option than Tess’s skirt and boots topped with a mohair jumper, the third outfit she had tried on before leaving the apartment. They stopped in the kitchen and Kirsten leaned close. ‘Correction. Grace is sitting in front of the TV, but I’m not sure she’s actually taking anything in. I gather you’ve been filled in on the situation?’
Tess nodded. ‘Yes. Ms Martin told me she’s quite withdrawn.’
Kirsten pursed her lips. ‘Maybe a visitor will perk her up.’ Her eyes were soft and her manner warm. She stepped through a timber-framed alcove into a wide rumpus room at the back of the house, its walls lined with shelves of books and an assortment of toys. Canned laughter pealed out from a television at the far end of the room. Slumped in a brown velvet beanbag was a waif of a girl, a curtain of long, dark curly hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her body was angled away, concealing her face. If she’d heard any voices she didn’t react, didn’t turn around, but remained inert. The soles of Tess’s ankle boots squelched on the linoleum and she cringed, tiptoeing the rest of the distance to join the foster carer as she bent down, hands clasped in front of her. ‘Grace, you have a visitor.’
No movement.
Kirsten shifted closer and laid a hand on Grace’s shoulder. The foam beads in the bag rustled as the little girl shuffled sidewards. ‘Grace, this is Tess. Remember I told you she was coming to see you?’
An ever-so-slow turn of the head. Tess’s breath hitched and for a few unbelievable seconds her heart stopped beating. The pale complexion, the smattering of freckles across the nose, the blue-grey eyes. Grace was an absolute replica of her mother; the perfect image of Skye when she’d arrived at the school in third grade. Except for the patch of pink skin on Grace’s left cheek. Although the birthmark she’d been born with had faded, it was still there. An angel’s kiss, Skye had called it, laughing as she’d stroked a finger over the bow-shaped blotch.
A sharp pain in the centre of her chest reminded Tess to exhale. ‘Hi, Grace, you wouldn’t remember me, but my name is Tess.’ Kirsten nodded. So far, so good. ‘I got you a little something. I hope you like it.’ She held the gift bag closer, but Grace just looked down at her hands.
What now? The present was no big deal, just an icebreaker. Still, it didn’t seem to be opening any avenues of communication. She glanced at Kirsten, who gave a not-so-subtle roll of her fingers. Keep trying.
Tess sank down onto her calves, ignoring the crack of her knee bones, and placed the gift on the floor. Grace’s lips twitched. A worn brown bear slipped from under her arm as she tentatively reached out and hauled the bag into her lap. The bear lay there staring up with his one good eye. Just as Tess moved to rescue him, Grace lunged, gathering him into her arms and holding him to her chest.
‘How about you bring your present up to the table when you’re ready and we’ll have some morning tea?’ Kirsten winked and stood. She was clearly using a diversion tactic, giving Grace some time alone. Tess pushed herself upright, angling her head in the child’s direction and smiling, still getting no response.
In the kitchen, the kettle was already boiling.
‘Tea or coffee?’
‘Tea, please. White, no sugar.’
Either Grace was hungry or super obedient. Gift bag in one hand, bear dangling from the other, she was up and moving, light-blue skinny jeans clinging to her thin legs, her dark mane of hair hanging loose, almost to her waist. She pulled out a chair and deposited both bear and bag on the table. Tess hovered in the doorway. Joining Grace on her own could be too unsettling. Kirsten came to the rescue, carrying a loaded tray, and leading the way with a cheery grin.
‘So you and Grace’s mum were old school friends?’
Wasn’t that subject a no-go zone?
Grace slurped at the milk Kirsten had placed in front of her, looking up in Tess’s direction and then back to her glass. Maybe that was a good sign? Maybe she did want to hear about Skye.
‘Yes, we were. We met in primary school and went all through high school together. To Year Ten, anyway. Actually …’ She dug around in her handbag and pulled out an envelope, then began fishing through the contents.
Watching Grace, she laid out the snapshots and eased them across the table. ‘I found these last night.’ Skimming through boxes of old photos after Josh had gone to bed had been a good way to pass the witching hours when sleep refused to come. Until the faded polaroids of Skye and her had become too much. She’d shoved them in an envelope and this morning, despite the rules she’d been given, had slipped them into her bag. Just in case.
Grace reached out to pick up the closest photo. She stared at the image, her expression neutral.
‘That’s your mum when she was about your age. You look just like her.’
Kirsten looked wistful. She had such a kind, gentle manner, it was easy to see she’d make a good foster-mother.
Grace blinked. Resting the photo in one hand, she traced the outline of Skye’s face with her index finger.
How could Skye have deserted her only child when she was so young, so vulnerable? Tess reached out a hand to stroke those silky locks of hair; Grace tipped her head and edged away.
Touch was a no-no, but the photos still held Grace’s interest. ‘And this one is of you when you were a baby. I was there when you were born. You were so beautiful, and Skye … your mum … was so happy. I’d never held a newborn before and you were so small, it was like holding a bundle of feathers.’ A cough from the other side of the table. Oh God, she’d got carried away with herself and gone too far.
‘Are you going to open your present?’ Kirsten nodded towards the still-unopened gift.
Without making eye contact with either of the adults, Grace picked up the bag and sat it on her lap. She pulled out the white cardboard box, letting the bag itself drop to the floor, unfolded the edges of the lid and removed the contents: a wooden jewellery box, its lid inlaid with flowers and butterflies of mother-of-pearl. It was the first thing that had caught Tess’s eye in the giftshop, something she would have loved herself when she was young. A shadow flitted across Grace’s face.
‘There’s something inside.’
‘Would you like to take a look?’ Kirsten was really trying to help, even though Grace remained mute.
This was not going well. In the backyard, a swing set and slippery dip sat beneath a huge old maple tree. It was like astral travelling back in time to Tess’s own childhood. Swings, trampoline, pool—her parents had provided their three children with the works. Bikes, scooters, rollerblades. Hours of entertainment and a garage overflowing with ‘things’. They hadn’t been rich, but they’d certainly been comfortable. An idyllic, stress-free life. She had no idea what Grace’s childhood had been like up to this point. Some godmother she’d turned out to be.
‘How about a cookie?’ Kirsten, on the other hand, was total magic. She moved the jewellery box aside and replaced it with a plate of choc-chip biscuits.
A small hand crept towards the plate. Grace sat back and nibbled at a cookie like any normal kid. Yes! Such a small thing, and yet the very ordinariness of it seemed to dissolve the mounting tension.
‘So, what do you usually do on weekends, Tess?’ Kirsten was keeping the conversation flowing.
‘Well, I work pretty long hours during the week. So I try to catch up on house stuff on weekends, or my husband and I sometimes have coffee, or go for walks if he’s not out on his bike.’
‘He cycles?’
‘Yes, he’s in a club. They’re away riding this weekend, in Kangaroo Valley. His name’s Josh. He’s a software designer.’ It was more information than Kirsten had asked for, but there was no harm in sneaking in some extra details. Not that it seemed to have any impact on Grace—she’d finished the cookie and was licking the crumbs from her lips.
‘And what’s your line of work?’
‘Oh, I’m in human resources.’ That would mean nothing to a ten-year-old. ‘I have my own company, run training programs, consult, that sort of thing. I’ve just come back from Los Angeles.’ Should a potential mother figure be jetting off to foreign countries? Oh God, she was totally screwing this up. Cartoon voices squealed from the far end of the room, the perfect opportunity for a change of topic. ‘I used to love watching cartoons when I was your age, Grace. I loved Scooby Doo. Do you have a favourite?’
Nothing. It was as if Tess had not even spoken.
‘Grace didn’t have a television at home, so she might not be all that familiar with what’s on,’ Kirsten explained.
Well done, Tess. You’re really on a roll here. ‘Ah, I see. I don’t watch much myself these days. I prefer reading books to watching a screen.’ Was that a tiny flicker of light behind the girl’s eyes at the mention of books? ‘Do you like to read, Grace?’
A nod. Small. But a nod just the same.
Finally, some common ground. ‘Maybe we can go shopping together sometime soon. I can show you my favourite bookshops.’
Grace swiped a finger across the milk moustache left behind by her drink, her hand almost hiding the slight curve of her lips. At last, a connection.
‘Let’s wait and see.’ Kirsten glanced down at her watch. ‘We’ll let you get on with your morning, Tess.’ She rose from her chair, signalling the end of the meet-and-greet.
Fair enough, she’d possibly over-stepped, but her business wasn’t quite finished. Tess crouched down again beside Grace’s chair. ‘It was so lovely to see you after all this time, Grace. Can I come back again?’
A slight shrug.
Not a yes, but not a no. ‘Okay, well, goodbye.’ Tess pressed her lips together and squeezed her hands around her kneecaps. It didn’t seem right to leave without some kind of touch or a kiss to the cheek. Grace gave no indication that either would be acceptable and her wishes had to be respected.
‘I’ll see you out.’ Kirsten gestured towards the front door.
It was time to leave. As she followed Kirsten into the kitchen she touched a hand to the other woman’s arm. ‘I’m so sorry if I said anything wrong. This is all new to me.’
‘I understand. It’s new to her, too. We just have to take baby steps and ease her into the situation.’
Tess sighed. ‘I don’t want to make things worse for her.’
‘The book idea seemed to click. You could possibly bring her a book next time? Not that I think the way to a child’s heart is through gifts, but in this case it might be a way in.’
Next time. That sounded positive. ‘Is it okay if I come back tomorrow?’
‘I’m afraid not. You’ll need to organise that with the office. But it would be good if you could come and see her again before everything is finalised. She needs to get to know you—and vice versa—if she’s going to live with you. Can your husband come along?’
‘Of course.’ Tess’s smile was so tight her cheeks ached.
Kirsten laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘Don’t look so worried. I’m sure it’ll all be fine. She just needs time to adjust.’
‘I hope so.’ Together they looked back to where Grace was seated at the table. The lid of the jewellery box was open and the gold necklace Tess had placed inside was dangling from Grace’s fingertips, the small heart-shaped locket resting in her other palm. She considered it for a moment before tossing it back in the box and banging down the lid, then turned away to stare out the window.
The tiny bud of hope starting to unfurl in Tess’s heart snapped shut. It was only a necklace, and she hadn’t been trying to buy the girl’s affection, but secretly she’d wished for a better reaction. She said goodbye to Kirsten and headed back to the car, as wrung out as if she’d just run a marathon. Regina Martin had warned her not to expect anything, and she’d been right. The dull light in Grace’s eyes, the complete lack of interest in anything Tess had said—apart from the one brief spark at the mention of books. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Something to grab onto when there was very little else to celebrate.
Five
The laptop was taking forever to boot up. Meanwhile, the smooth merlot Tess had found in the wine rack was going down a treat. It was a 2013 bottle. The year she and Josh had married. It was handy that his
father owned a vineyard and could supply both the wine and the venue. The day had been everything she’d dreamed of and more. Josh, so very Mr Darcy in his tux; her dad’s eyes shining as she had taken his arm at the end of the bespoke aisle; the rustic pergola dripping in purple wisteria they’d stood beneath while they had swapped their vows. A light breeze had jostled the flowers and a few wayward petals had settled on her shoulders like mauve jewels against the champagne silk of her dress. They’d decided on only one attendant each since Skye was the only person Tess could think of who fitted the brief, but she’d been unable to come at the last minute. Grace had taken ill with a bout of measles, so Ally had stepped in and saved the day. Her mother had managed the necessary alterations in between mutterings about ridiculous people who refused to get their children vaccinated. So, apart from the missing bridesmaid, it had all gone according to plan.
Much like their lives afterwards. Until now.
The update finally finished and it was time to google, but she had no idea where to start. A name was as good a place as any. She typed out the letters and within a few seconds a list of possibilities appeared—Skye Whittaker on YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Vimeo, Soundcloud. There was no point in checking any of them. Skye’s refusal to indulge in anything remotely resembling even twentieth-century technology meant there would be no social media profile of any kind. There was page after page of listings, a bucketload of images of women and girls who were not her Skye, but nothing worth clicking on until page eleven. A report in the Central Western Times, the newspaper from the area in which Skye had lived. And died. Tess moved her finger across the touchpad and let it hover. Her gut clenched. Opening the link was a risk, but something inside her needed to know. One quick press of her finger and there it was.
Local Woman Found Dead
Police were called to a location outside the township of Weerilla yesterday where a woman was found dead in her home. The deceased has been identified as Skye Whittaker, a thirty-five-year-old mother of one. The woman’s daughter has been taken into the care of Family and Community Services. Police say there are no suspicious circumstances surrounding the death.