Mothers and Daughters

by Kylie Ladd

  ‘Macy! Macy!’

  Bronte and Tess were standing right in front of the stage, frantically waving their arms. Shocked back to reality, Macy stumbled and missed a line. The lead guitarist shot her a look.

  ‘Have you seen Janey?’ Tess shouted over the music.

  Macy shook her head and kept singing. Fuck it, she wasn’t their babysitter. They were ruining her high.

  ‘We can’t find her anywhere,’ Bronte called, then Tess pulled her away.

  ‘Forget it,’ Macy saw her mouth to Bronte. ‘She’s no help.’ Just before they disappeared back into the night, Tess turned and pointed at her. ‘Stay right there!’ she yelled. ‘We’ll come back when we’ve got her.’

  Macy closed her eyes once more and lifted the microphone to her lips. There was no problem with that. She wasn’t going anywhere.

  ‘Where are you taking me?’ Janey asked as the boy led her by the hand along the beach.

  ‘Somewhere private, mermaid,’ he said. ‘I want to have you all to myself.’

  Janey giggled, though she could feel her heart pounding against her ribs as if she’d just swum one of her coach’s ridiculous butterfly sets. It was excitement, she told herself. That was why she was so breathless.

  ‘Shit!’ said the boy, dropping her hand.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ asked Janey.

  ‘Stubbed my toe on something,’ he said, hopping slightly. ‘A rock, I think.’

  As Janey’s eyes adjusted to the darkness she saw that they had wandered off the sand and were walking on the edge of the mudflats, among rock pools and stony outcrops. The breeze shifted, and a stench of something rotten drifted past them from the mangroves.

  ‘Ewww,’ she said. ‘Let’s go back up onto the grass. We’re far enough away from the markets. No one can see us now.’

  ‘Keen, are you?’ He grinned and reached for her hand once more.

  She didn’t answer, concentrating on picking her way out of the mudflats without getting her new sandals wet. Keen? Sort of, she supposed. She’d been both flattered and relieved when she’d run into the development squad at one of the many takeaway vans circling the night markets: flattered because the boy she’d met twice before had recognised and followed her, complimenting her so outrageously that she’d agreed to this private walk with him; relieved because at least now she had someone to hang around with, someone who wanted to be with her. It had felt strange wandering around the markets by herself. She hadn’t liked being alone. She wasn’t used to it—back home, people were always fighting to talk to her, sit next to her—but Macy, Tess and Bronte had acted as if they couldn’t get rid of her quickly enough. A wave of loneliness washed over her; a lump rose in her throat. She forced it down, angry at herself for being so needy. She wasn’t lonely, not one bit. She had the boy—who needed those girls? They were all idiots anyway. Macy, who thought she was so cool just because she wore black and could sing a bit; Bronte, that pathetic stick insect who’d ruined her phone; and Tess, who’d gone off and dobbed to her mummy about the Facebook photo. Didn’t they get that it was just a joke? She wouldn’t be emailing Tess again. She could rot up here for all Janey cared.

  ‘Here we are, mermaid,’ said the boy, pulling her down beside him onto the grass that ran along the edge of the beach. He shrugged off his polo shirt. ‘You can lie on this.’

  Lie? Janey felt a small tingle of panic. He’d said they were going for a walk. ‘My name’s actually Janey,’ she said, stalling. ‘What’s yours?’

  ‘Roo,’ he said, slipping one arm around her.

  ‘As in the animal?’

  ‘As in Rupert, my grandfather. He was white, but my grandmother wasn’t.’ One broad hand slid along her shoulder and down towards her breast.

  ‘Oh, that’s interesting,’ said Janey desperately. ‘Where was she from?’

  In reply Roo’s mouth descended on hers. He had kissed her before, but this time, in the darkness, it was more of a shock, an invasion, and she felt herself freeze.

  Roo drew back.

  ‘What’s the matter, mermaid? I thought you liked it last time.’

  ‘I did—I do,’ Janey protested. ‘I just wasn’t . . . ready, I guess.’

  ‘We can go back if you like. I’m not going to make you.’

  Janey fought the impulse to spring to her feet. Yes, they could go back, but to what? Roo would probably just join his mates again, and she’d have to hang around by herself until it was time to return to The Mangrove with the others. The loneliness rose again. She’d been on her own pretty much all day. Besides, she told herself, there was something romantic about being out on a beach with a handsome stranger. This was what she wanted, wasn’t it? She’d been thinking about it, after all. And if so, how much better for it to happen here, under the stars, rather than in someone’s parents’ bedroom at a party with half her class hanging around outside? She took a deep breath, then leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said. ‘I want to stay here.’

  At first it was nice. Roo kissed her back, more slowly and less aggressively than he had at Wajarrgi, his arms around her strong and almost comforting. Janey wished they could stay like that, just kissing, but before she knew it his hands were on her stomach, sliding up underneath her top to cup her breasts, remove her bra, his calloused palms rough against her nipples. She shuddered, and he took it for arousal rather than discomfort, pushing her onto her back and rolling on top of her. Janey felt his penis hard against her stomach, and her eyes flew open. The moon seemed a long way away now. If only he’d just slow down a bit, she thought. He was going too quickly. She opened her mouth to ask him, but then closed it again. He’d think she was a baby, a scaredy-cat. She wanted him to boast about her to his friends, not laugh. Roo’s hands moved lower, parting her inner thighs, and she gripped his shoulders, willing herself not to flinch.

  ‘You like that, do you, mermaid?’ he muttered against her neck.

  Janey, my name’s Janey, she wanted to say, but he was pushing up her skirt and pulling down her underwear and it was all happening too quickly. Roo paused and for a second she thought with relief that he’d changed his mind, but then she heard him fumbling with his shorts. Suddenly his full weight was back on her, suffocating her, and there was something hot and hard and very determined prodding between her legs.

  ‘Do you have something?’ she gasped, every cautionary tale she’d ever read in Cosmo flooding back to her. ‘A condom?’

  Roo groaned. ‘I don’t. I’ll pull out though, OK? I promise.’

  The prodding resumed, fierce and elemental, like the siege of a castle. Janey bit her lip, determined not to cry out. This is your fault, Mum, she found herself thinking. Her fault for slapping her, for calling her a bitch, for not being on her side; her fault that she’d been all alone at the markets and had had to go with Roo. This would show her. I hope you’re happy. Then all of a sudden Roo broke through, was inside her. She was dry and it stung, his penis like a rasp, a chisel, something splitting her apart. She wriggled and tried to shove him away, but it was too late—he was thrusting now, forcing her against the tussocky grass that bit and scratched her where his shirt had ridden up.

  ‘Stop!’ she cried, but he shouted out ‘Fuck!’ at the same moment, spasmed, then went still. Janey lay back panting, grateful it was over.

  ‘God, sorry, mermaid,’ Roo moaned. ‘I meant to pull out—I really did. You were just so tight I couldn’t help myself. Fuck—pretty good, eh?’

  A chill was spreading over Janey. ‘What?’ she asked. Without waiting for a reply, she pushed him off her with a mighty heave. Her hand went down between her legs. Something viscous and sticky was dribbling down her thigh.

  ‘Oh, you arsehole,’ she said. ‘You complete and utter cunt. You promised!’

  ‘Hey, it’s a compliment, OK?’ Roo lay on his back, his now-flaccid penis shrunken and shrivelled. ‘You were so hot I couldn’t stop—you should be proud . . . You can get that morning-
after thingy anyway.’

  Janey thought she might explode with fury. She hated him. She hated herself. She had to get away. Grabbing for her underwear, she leapt to her feet and sprinted down the beach, back towards the lights and safety of the night markets, legs pumping, mouth open, ran and ran and ran until suddenly something grabbed her by the foot and she was brought down, yelping, onto the cold, wet grit of the mudflats.

  ‘They should be back by now.’

  Morag checked her watch. Three minutes to eleven, just two minutes on from when she’d last consulted it. Amira had finally said out loud what Morag had been thinking, what Caro was clearly thinking, and maybe even Fiona too if she could be forced to admit it. For the previous half hour they’d all gamely acted as if nothing was wrong, that they were happily enjoying a last-night drink by the pool at The Mangrove, where they’d returned after finishing dinner, but slowly, inexorably, the conversation had dried up.

  ‘Yes,’ she sighed. The girls had been told to return by ten. They’d only gone three or four blocks away, at least according to Amira. Where the heck were they?

  Fiona held up the sweating bottle marooned in the middle of the table. ‘Drink?’ she asked, then plonked it back down when no one responded. ‘Oh, relax,’ she chided. ‘They’ve probably just lost track of the time. They’re young. And it’s their last night too. They’ll be fine.’

  Caro turned to Morag. ‘Try ringing Macy again.’

  Morag dutifully picked up her phone, entered the number and held it to her ear. Please answer please answer please answer, she chanted to herself, but the call went through to voicemail, as had all the previous calls. This time she hung up without leaving a message.

  ‘Bugger,’ said Caro. ‘We should have realised that only one of them had a phone before we let them go. I just assumed . . .’ Her voice trailed off.

  Morag knew what she was thinking, that in this day and age everyone was immediately contactable all the time, but Bronte, it turned out, had never wanted a phone, while Tess had stopped using hers after moving to Kalangalla. ‘There’s no coverage, so she couldn’t,’ Amira had explained. ‘I don’t even know where it is now.’ As for Janey, they all knew what had happened to her mobile.

  ‘Well, it wasn’t my idea,’ Fiona said, pouring herself a drink. ‘Cheers,’ she added, holding the glass aloft. ‘To our best-laid plans.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ Caro snapped. ‘I didn’t hear you protesting when Tess suggested it. You were only too happy to have Bronte off your hands for a couple of hours. Not that you even notice her when she’s here.’

  Fiona straightened in her seat, eyes sparkling. ‘Glasshouses!’ she hooted. ‘Because you’re right on top of everything Janey’s doing, aren’t you?’

  ‘OK,’ said Amira, standing up. ‘I’m sure everything’s alright, but I’m going to go and look for them—then we can all enjoy what’s left of the night without anyone getting their eyes scratched out.’

  Fiona pretended to pout. ‘I was only warming up. And she started it.’

  Just then Morag saw some figures emerge from the shadows beyond the pool.

  ‘Hey,’ she cried. ‘I think they’re back.’

  Each of the women turned to look, their heads swivelling like clowns in a sideshow game, but it wasn’t all four girls, just Bronte and Tess. Spotting the women, Bronte broke into a run.

  ‘Is Janey here?’ she asked, pulling up at their table.

  ‘No,’ said Caro. ‘She’s meant to be with you.’

  ‘We . . . um . . . separated,’ Bronte admitted.

  ‘What?’ Morag said. ‘You were meant to stay together! When? How long has it been since you saw her? And where’s Macy?’

  Tess joined her friend. ‘It wasn’t Bronte’s fault,’ she said. ‘Macy wanted to sing—she got asked by this band—and we didn’t want to spend all our time just hanging out there, so we agreed that we’d meet later.’ She cast a look at Morag. ‘She’s still singing. We couldn’t get her to come back.’

  ‘And Janey—what about Janey?’ Caro asked. One of her hands clutched the table; the other had gone straight to her throat.

  ‘She said she needed a drink, so we told her the same as Macy—meet at the stage at ten to ten.’ Bronte hung her head as if anticipating the next question.

  ‘You couldn’t have just gone with her?’ Caro didn’t bother to hide the anger in her voice.

  ‘I didn’t feel much like being with her,’ Bronte said, not meeting Caro’s eyes. ‘Sorry.’ Morag thought she might start crying.

  Tess put her arm around the taller girl.

  ‘It’s not Bronte’s fault,’ she said again. ‘I talked her into it. And Janey was the one who didn’t turn up—the rest of us were there. We’ve been looking for her for the past forty minutes.’ ‘Great. Just great,’ erupted Caro. ‘We ask you four to do one thing, just to stick together, and—’

  ‘Come on, Caro, we’ll go find her,’ interrupted Amira, reaching for Caro’s hand. ‘She can’t have got far. The markets aren’t very big. Maybe she just got confused about where the stage was.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ said Bronte. ‘It’s really loud. You could find it with your eyes shut.’ Tess elbowed her.

  ‘I’ll come too, to get Macy,’ Morag said, rising from her seat.

  ‘No, you stay here,’ said Amira. ‘We need someone to man the phones, and I don’t trust her.’ She cocked her head at Fiona, who had just drained her glass and was already reaching to fill it again. ‘Seriously, Janey might turn up here while we’re searching, then you can give us a ring and we’ll come straight back.’

  ‘With Macy,’ Morag prompted.

  ‘Yes, with Macy, of course. Thanks.’ Amira shepherded Caro away into the night. ‘We’ll walk,’ Morag heard her say. ‘The markets aren’t far, and you can never get a park there. They’re just so busy! I’m sure that’s all it is.’ She stopped abruptly and spun around. ‘Bronte! Tess! You come with us and show us where you were meant to meet up. Morag will look after things here.’

  Good old Morag, Morag thought as she watched them go. Morag will look after things. Morag always does. But who the hell was looking after Morag’s child? Stepchild, she corrected herself. Not flesh, not blood, but still, somehow, her responsibility. It didn’t seem fair. If anything happened to Macy Andrew and Janice would blame her, everyone would, even though she wasn’t related to her and hadn’t even wanted her here. Not that anyone seemed all that concerned about Macy—Amira hadn’t even mentioned her when she set off on her rescue mission. Sure, Macy wasn’t missing as such, not like Janey, but it wasn’t as if she was tucked up safely in bed either. Who knew what had happened since Bronte and Tess had last seen her? The band might have finished and she might be wandering around lost, or backstage blowing a roadie . . . Why the hell hadn’t she done what she was told to in the first place? None of this would’ve happened if the girls hadn’t split up—and Macy was the oldest, so theoretically she should be the most responsible, the one you could trust. Hah! Morag could feel herself growing angrier and angrier. It wasn’t like her, and the sensation was disquieting. She wanted to scream. She wanted to go for a run. She wanted to find Macy and shake her until her teeth chattered.

  Fiona burped softly. ‘Kids, hey,’ she remarked from across the table. ‘First you lose your figure, next you lose your social life, then you lose your mind. They’re not worth it. I wish someone had told me.’

  Despite her fury, Morag couldn’t quite agree. Yes, having children was tiring, but Finn, Callum and Torran were infinitely precious to her; they were the sum of her days. As for Macy . . . with Macy it was different. Could anything ever come close to that bond of blood? Macy irritated and upset her more easily than her biological children; Macy always had a head start, somehow, in tipping her over the edge. Morag cared for Macy, she knew she did, even loved her on their good days—but that was just the point, wasn’t it, that the love was more conditional, more limited than what she felt for the three boys who had been pulled wet a
nd bloody from her own body. She wondered if every step-parent felt like this; she wondered if things would have been different if she’d known Macy since her birth rather than meeting her for the first time as an already cautious, already defensive seven-year-old. The problem, she thought, was that you chose to be a parent. The twins had been unplanned, but still she’d decided to go ahead, she’d chosen to keep them. No one ever chose to be a step-parent.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she replied, straining to keep her tone light. ‘It means you’ve got someone to look after you in your old age, at least.’

  A shadow passed over Fiona’s face. ‘If you live that long.’

  Morag picked up her phone. ‘I’m going for a walk,’ she said. ‘I can’t sit still at a time like this.’

  Fiona hugged herself. ‘You,’ she said, ‘can never sit still.’

  Morag’s mobile rang about ten minutes later, on her third circuit of the path between The Mangrove and Matso’s. It was Amira, her words rushed. ‘We’ve found Janey, but she’s injured. We’ll have to take her to hospital. I called for the ambulance, but there’s only one in Broome and it’s already out. Can you bring the troop carrier here? The keys are on the table next to my bed—the room should be open. Just head down the road from Matso’s and keep going until you see the markets.’ She drew in a shuddery breath. ‘Oh God—Caro’s freaking out. Can you hurry?’

  ‘Calm down,’ said Morag. ‘It’ll be OK. I’ll get there as quickly as I can. Is Macy with you?’

  Amira groaned. ‘We haven’t even looked for her yet . . . and I can’t leave Janey, or Caro. We’ll come back and find her as soon as we get Janey to hospital, I promise.’

  A preternatural calm came over Morag.

  ‘Are Janey’s injuries life-threatening?’ she asked. ‘Is she bleeding? Can she breathe?’

  ‘No, it’s her ankle,’ Amira said. ‘It’s badly broken. She’s deathly pale and she screams every time someone tries to touch it.’