Millie prepared French toast for Grace then sat down to watch her eat. Smoke rose from a third Peter Stuyvesant filling the air above their heads.
“Grace!” Helena yelled, as she entered the kitchen.
“What?” Grace yelled back.
“The smoke from your cigarette; mum’s had pneumonia you know!”
“Oh,” said Grace. “That’s all. Sorry, Mum.”
“It’s OK, dear,” said Millie with a cough.
Helena shook her head, and tidied the kitchen.
“When you’re done there, we should move into the living room to relax a while,” said Grace.
“Relax? You just got out of bed.”
Grace pushed her plate toward Helena. “Come on, Mum, to the living room.” She guided Millie to the front of the house, stopping at the fridge on the way for a bottle of wine.
“What are you doing?” Helena asked.
“If you expect me to wade through that pile of cards and letters, I’m going to need a little help.”
“It’s a bit early, don’t you think?”
“It’s eleven o’clock, Lena, an hour past opening.”
Helena shook her head, and followed the procession of pastel bathrobes.
Grace removed a crystal glass from the display cabinet, and filled it with Chardonnay. “Helena?”
“No thanks,” she replied.
“Don’t you have something to say?” Grace nodded at Millie coiled into the jacquard armchair.
“Now?”
“I thought you said it was urgent.”
“It is,” said Helena.
“Well?”
Helena took a deep breath. “Mum, you need to sell the house.”
“What happened to gentle and subtle?” Grace asked lighting another cigarette.
“OK,” said Millie.
“It’s a difficult decision, I know,” Helena continued, “but—”
“Helena, she said ‘OK’”
“I don’t want to live here anymore,” said Millie.
“OK,” said Helena. “We’ll move into Orchard Road in August when the tenant moves out. This place should sell by then, and I’ll invest the proceeds in a term deposit. The interest should be enough for you to live on.”
“OK,” said Millie.
“Wouldn’t it be better to invest it in shares?” Grace asked.
“Too risky,” said Helena.
“OK, your call,” said Grace. She filled her glass and lit another cigarette. “Sure you wouldn’t like some?”
“All right,” said Helena, “just one glass. It is almost lunchtime.”
“So how are the kids coping?” Grace asked.
“In different ways. William is angry with me. I think he blames me that dad’s not here.”
“He was dad’s favorite, and dad did spoil him, so it’s not surprising that he’s feeling the loss more than the others. Maybe you just need to give him more attention.”
“That didn’t go so well. When the boys were playing football in the backyard I tried to join in, but William kept kicking it back and forth to Brian, and he let me know it was intentional. He gets that glint in his eyes.”
“What about the others?” Grace asked. “Top up?”
“Maybe one more then lunch,” she said passing her glass to Grace. “Matthew plays by himself most of the time, or with Carla. Brian is the clingy one, and he cries a lot. I don’t quite understand why he’s so sad all the time.”
“How are you going to handle a job with all of this going on around you?”
“I don’t know, but I’ll have to. Michael is taking them for the school holidays, so hopefully I can get on top of things then.”
“Oh really? Michael’s coming here?”
“He’s picking them up and taking them back to the base on the plane, so they’ll love that.”
“Are you asleep, Mum?” Grace asked.
“Grace, don’t, you’ll wake her up.”
“She seems OK at the moment,” said Grace. “A bit slow perhaps, but otherwise fine.”
“While she’s on the pills, she’s OK. She thinks they’re for the pneumonia, so I don’t know if she’ll keep taking them once her chest clears.”
“Hide them in her food. More wine?”
“That’s helpful,” said Helena offering her glass. “Anyway, how did you manage to get away from the salon?”
“I have a prospective buyer who’s been working with me for a few weeks. If everything goes smoothly this weekend, I think he’ll buy.”
“You’re selling the salon? What will you do?”
“After eight years, I’m a little weary. I’m thirty in September, and I’d like to enjoy my life again while I still can.” She paused, lit another cigarette, and swigged. “I’ll stay on as a stylist and employee, and I’m really looking forward to that.”
“I’m feeling a little giddy,” said Helena.
“After three glasses?”
“They’re big glasses, and you’re over-filling them. It’s a nice feeling though, being numb like this. I haven’t slept in so long.”
“At last you’ve discovered the medicinal value of alcohol. It’s been working wonders for me for decades.” Grace paused to sip. “Helena? Helena?” She reached over to remove the wine glass from a tilting hand. “Good Lord,” she said. “Lucky I’m used to drinking on my own.”
Chapter Twenty-five
May 1974
HELENA rested her forehead on her folded arms, lifting it occasionally to sip a black, sugar-rich brew. “There’s a lot to be said for being a non-drinker,” she said.
“You should know by now, dear, that you can’t drink,” said Millie.
“I can drink—just not alcohol. I did sleep well though when the bed stopped spinning.” Helena shuddered recalling the nausea, which had not dissipated entirely.
“Have something to eat, dear, before the children get up. You’ll feel much better.”
“Isn’t Brian up already?” Helena asked. “He wasn’t in his bed when I came down.”
“No…I haven’t seen him.”
Helena sat up, stared at Millie then raced into the backyard. Her head throbbed louder. “Brian!” she called out as she searched every known cubbyhole. She ran back inside. “Call the police!” she yelled at Millie. “Brian!” she screamed. Before tearing up the stairs, she pulled every curtain from its hook and searched the billowing fabric. The fracas woke the children and Grace.
“What’s going on?” Grace asked.
“I can’t find Brian!”
Sergeant Mackelroth had questions that Helena could not answer: who saw Brian last, where, when, and what was he wearing at the time. That she knew so little of her missing son only served to intensify her suffering, as did the fact that officially, twenty-four hours had to pass before Sergeant Mackelroth could launch a police search.
Sergeant Mackelroth glanced sideways at his new deputy then documented that Brian Baden had been missing twenty-five hours. He left to galvanize troops, and left his deputy to console Helena with statistics: 90 percent of children reported missing return home within forty-eight hours. This had the reverse effect on Helena and Millie, and Grace pointed out that Robert was still missing after twenty-one years.
By mid-morning, most of Maine united in the search, while Helena waited and cried into Brian’s favorite t-shirt with the Fern and Wilbur transfer she had ironed on to the front. William, Carla, and Matthew joined Helena in the living room, in her direct line of sight, and for the first time, they ate lunch on the carpet where they sat. William complained that the carpet prickled his legs, and moved on to the clear vinyl runner that flowed from the front door to the kitchen. Once away from the pack and closer to freedom, he moved one butt cheek at a time toward the yellow and brown Marley tile floors at the back of the house. Each time he came close to freedom, Helena returned him to the plastic runner at the halfway point. He retaliated by extracting the plastic teeth from the underside of the vinyl, leaving a trail of destru
ction in his wake.
Helena did not speak to, or look at, Grace or Millie. She rocked back and forth, and screeched at any precipitous motion or sound, like the oven timer. Grace smoked, drank coffee, made calls, and answered the phone whenever it rang. Millie baked the entire day, not bothered by the remnants of jam drops and chocolate crackles on the white pile. Each hour that closed in on five o’clock and sunset was more volatile than the previous, until a car pulled into the curb and they raced to the front porch.
Sergeant Mackelroth’s deputy approached, rotating his navy blue cap with his fingers. “I know this has been a difficult day for you,” he said, “but I have some news that has just come to us, and I think you need to hear it.” He paused. “I’m sorry to tell you, but weekend hikers have discovered a child’s body.”
Helena fell to the tiled floor, smacking the side of her face on the edge of an ochre ceramic pot. A torrent of blood flowed, and pooled in her ear and in the ditches around her eyes. Grace pushed Carla and Matthew back inside, crying, while Millie twisted on the spot not knowing who to attend or how to respond. William leaned against the house with his arms folded, and occasionally looked down at his mother with no visible emotion. The deputy called for an ambulance on his two-way radio.
“It’s Brian then?” asked Grace.
“Brian? No, I don’t think so,” said the deputy. “They found a satchel in a shallow grave with the remnants of what looks like sheet music. The initials engraved into the leather leaves us to believe,” he paused, “it’s your brother.”
Millie collapsed on top of Helena, and Grace realized, only then that she missed her father. This moment, always had him at the helm, and no one was less equipped than she was to stand in his shoes. She looked to the skies for his guidance then prayed to the other father who art in Heaven, hallowed in name.
Chapter Twenty-six
December 1974
THERE was an eeriness to the night’s middle: the blackness, stillness, silence, and knowing you were alone in the dark while the world slept. Helena calmed its disconcerting with sponge cake—orange and poppy seeds or chocolate.
Almost a year had passed since she had lost her father, and the memories had no mercy, wielding a blade that threatened to shred her into pieces that could never reform into a united whole. Another calendar year in any life could not be so devastating, and it proved to Helena that she no longer possessed the mental, emotional or spiritual capacity for forgiveness.
She had not spoken to Grace since May when Brian went missing. If it were not for her sister’s influence, Helena would not have passed out on the sofa, and slept until mid-evening when Millie and Grace claimed the children were in bed. She should have checked, but didn’t for once, and joined Grace instead for a nightcap to further the release that sleep had brought. If Brian had not come back, reprisal would have been much worse than mere disregard.
Helena loved Brian the most, and only she knew the truth of it because parents did not make such confessions publicly. Brian had the softest heart, was most loving, and showed compassion for all of life: a caterpillar, dog, beetle or a fly. He had once pleaded with her to revive a pigeon, but Helena had said the bird was old and tired of flying. William had scoffed, demanding a fuller explanation as to how she could know, and Helena had pointed at the gray feathers as evidence. Brian named it Snoopy for a formal burial, and Helena provided the requested birdseed for the long journey to bird Heaven.
“That’s not birdseed,” William had said, staring into the grainy mix then it was Helena’s turn to ask how he could know so much. “I know what rice looks like,” he responded, forcing Helena back to the kitchen to prepare a concoction more likely to pass William’s scrutiny. The new blend of sesame seeds, peppercorns, dried herbs, and pumpkin seeds, received William’s tentative approval, and the ceremony proceeded with a few teary words from Brian.
Helena was in hospital recovering from concussion when they found him, and brought him to her. She had curled him into her side as if he were back in her womb, and would not allow anyone to take him away, not even for a much-needed bath.
He was tired from his ordeal, but not hungry having spent the absent twenty-nine hours in the Girl Guides’ hut eating his way through their biscuit supplies. A passer-by had noticed a light bulb still aglow through the tiny timber window, and discovered the small mass asleep in a corner with an embroidered pillow clenched to his chest.
When school holidays arrived with Michael, Helena could not part with Brian, or any of her children, and though it made life more difficult, she sent Michael home empty-handed, and he did not seem disappointed. William was angry once more, still, and let her know that he held her responsible for the demise of his holiday that then included the internment of his lost uncle’s remains.
Helena bought Basil primarily for William as a peace offering, but the very nature of Basil meant that he responded to any attention, and Brian, Carla, and Matthew gave him plenty. William watched on from the sidelines, and Helena’s heart bled at the sight. He wanted to play, that was obvious, and showed his frustration by yelling repeatedly at Matthew for calling Basil ‘toilet brush’ instead of Basil Brush, his namesake.
The decision to add another stomach to the household budget had taken months of self-convincing given the immovability of all lines of income, and the ongoing agility of items of expenditure. In the end, Helena was glad she made the decision irrespective of financial imperatives, as Basil was manna: an antidote for sadness, a confidant, entertainer, and companion. During the day, he was the center of the children’s world, but at night, late, he sat loyally beside Helena for his share of whatever she baked. He loved cake as much as she did, and his impatience for the oven bell would have his cold, damp, brown nose nudging constantly at her calf.
The photos of Robert conjured up images of their childhood, making it easy to remember a time she did not want to slip away. They reminded her of how he walked, dressed, the things he would say, and how he would say them, and who he was to be as a man and head of their family. He would have been a huge help with Millie, but then, Millie would be the old Millie again if he were alive. Twenty-two years had passed since he stood waiting in the cold, dark dusk for a bus that never came, and now the waiting was over.
A child’s hand had broken free from its bushy entombment after decades of reaching for the surface, clipping a hiker’s toe as she passed. Sergeant Mackelroth confirmed that Robert had suffered a blow to the back of his head, and his neck was broken in three places. Forensics would one day determine the issue of molestation, but no one ever mentioned it. Other questions went unanswered: did he suffer, was he alive when buried, did he die the day of abduction instantly with a blow or some time later after captivity and torture. Helena wondered why God would take the good son, and leave the errant daughter, and how ironic it was that Grace wanted to live in Sydney while Robert wanted to stay in Maine.
She pushed the photos aside to finish the Christmas cards to William, Brian, Carla, and Matthew from their father, writing with a backward hand, mainly for William’s benefit. She did likewise for birthdays and Easter, placing five dollars in every card, since Michael was consistent in his neglect.
The oven tolled and Basil followed Helena into the kitchen. He pawed at her leg while the cake cooled to remind her he waited, until finally he received his share. Helena placed her slice in a Tupperware container for her break at the supermarket where she would stack shelves until 2AM. She would sleep then until six in the room she shared with her mother before starting work at nine at a local accountant’s office. The clock was her life, lived by hours, not months or years, as it would be if there were a future.
PART II
Chapter Twenty-seven
October 1981
HER father had always said there were doors everywhere opening and closing—a spiritual guiding onto the path that was hers to take. He had not told her what to do if she could not find an open door or if she did not realize that one had already creake
d to a close. When it came to William, there were no doors telling her what to do.
The pilfering began when he was eleven, a somewhat courageous enterprise since Helena knew every cent personally and, as Murphy would have it, Campbell Meats was shoulder-to-shoulder with shoppers that Saturday morning when a gray vinyl purse revealed the first discrepancy. A new rich shade of crimson engulfed her face as she instructed the butcher to de-bag the sausages. He did so in a dramatic way, and Helena thought about spontaneous human combustion. She stared straight ahead during the final exchange of notes and coins, avoiding eye contact, and the sign on the wall behind the counter that ordered ‘no expectorating’, identified the culprit. William had asked her once to explain ‘expectorate,’ and subsequently spat on the butcher’s red concrete floor. “Like this?” he had asked then smiled that smile.
Back at Orchard Road, and still in one piece, Helena made plans to bring Pooh to the honey pot. With her purse in position on the kitchen bench, and the zipper on the coin pouch open so its contents would scatter when moved, she turned away to wash dishes. The ruse almost came unstuck: by the time she responded to the sound of silver on laminate, William was almost out of sight.
She called Michael to discuss the problem, hoping for a solution and moral support, and disconnected with neither. It was a trifling matter, he said, and blamed her for being too austere. Accepting some truth in his words, Helena arranged a spending spree, in Baden-relative terms, taking all four children to the shopping fair for treats of their choosing. She shuddered with each purchase, and made repeated mention of school uniforms and field trips, her words falling into tiny ears that did not care at all for either.
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