“Hey...” Josie began, and swallowed her mouthful, “can I ask you something? The guy with the small...was it—was it good?”
“Who are you and what have you done with Josie?” There was a pause. “Not the best I’ve had.” She sighed. “OK, far from it. But, it was him so it didn’t matter. I even got rid of my other hangers on. I realised after we broke up that I’m tired, Josie. Some days I just want someone to be there when I get home. I want someone to warm my bed when it’s cold and give me hugs when I’ve had a hard day.”
Josie didn’t know how to respond. She’d like that too.
12
8 February 1993
“Have you thought about what we should call her?” Gary asked.
Josie shook her head but didn’t look up from the child she was holding. Gary edged towards the bed, worried she’d startle like a young fawn.
“You’re not going to name her after you?” he persisted.
Josie frowned. “No.”
She was small and pale in the big hospital bed. Still a child herself in so many ways. Too young to have a child.
“I thought that was something you did in your family,” he just managed to keep the frustration from his voice.
Her face cleared. “Oh, because I have my mother's middle name. No, I don't want to do that. But it should be something significant, a name I care about or someone...” She trailed off.
Gary moved awkwardly to the side of the bed. He didn’t know what to do and he always knew what to do. He didn’t know how he’d got into this situation. When he was a teenager he’d even told a girl to get an abortion, maybe he should have done the same this time. It was strange that he thought of her now. The last time had been when he met Josie—they shared similarities, those lips that looked like they were pouting even when they weren’t, and deeply religious mothers.
“Should I hold her?” he asked.
Josie looked at him for the first time, her face blank, and offered him the child. He took the baby from her. She looked at her hands and played with her wedding ring.
The strangest feeling came over him looking at the tiny form in his arms, so vulnerable. This delicate little thing was his, he felt fear for the first time, he felt out of his depth. Her wrinkled face was the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. His chest tightened and his eyes misted. He’d been a selfish bastard his whole life up until this point, now he wanted to be a better man. He wanted to protect her from men like him.
He touched the soft skin of her face and she screwed it up adorably. He chuckled, mesmerised.
“I know what I want to call her,” Josie said quietly. He’d entirely forgotten she was there, that anything else existed in the world. “Patricia.”
He smiled at Josie. In this moment he loved her. If Kate hadn’t already made him marry her, he’d have got down on one knee and proposed right there.
“Patricia,” he repeated his voice full of wonder, and smiled at his daughter, a warm feeling in his chest.
13
18 February 2011
When people ask, “how are you?” they don’t really want to know. They want you to say, “I’m OK,” or, “Fine”. They don’t even wait for an answer most of the time. Josie hadn’t realised this till she really wasn’t fine and no one seemed to notice.
She and Gary had been living like ships passing in the night since Patricia moved out. He’d even started sleeping in Patricia’s room; some of his clothes had migrated into the empty wardrobe. It was like Patricia had been the glue that kept their family functioning. They’d never been close but now they were living completely separate lives. So she wasn’t surprised he didn’t notice.
David had chatted to her several times, she’d wanted to shake him and yell, “Don’t you realise my life is falling apart? I have no idea who I am. I don’t love my husband and I think I’m in love with you!” She didn’t, of course. Disappointment settled in her stomach. She’d thought they were close.
Mary stopped by her desk. “Are you staying for drinks tonight?”
God. She could do with a drink but she didn’t trust herself with a wine in her hand around her work colleagues. She’d made more of an effort to participate since becoming friends with David but maybe that wasn’t a good idea anymore.
“Maybe next time. I’m a bit snowed under doing the pay run today.” She made the effort to smile.
“Perfect chance to unwind.” Mary was ever the optimist. “Those of us that are left have got to stick together, right? A bunch of us are thinking of going out after. The bar down the street’s still closed but there are a couple open in town. Dave’s coming.”
“No, thank you.” The smile hurt her cheeks.
Mary drifted away. David turned up not long after.
“Hey, Mary says you aren’t staying for drinks. We could do a quiet little toast to my good news.” He still had no idea there was anything wrong. So much for him being her friend; though now she thought about it she wasn’t sure she would she have told him about her mother under normal circumstances.
Josie gritted her teeth and keeping her eyes on the screen said, “Now’s not a good time, David. I’m right in the middle of the pay run.”
“I thought that was the 20th?”
She refused to look up, even his accent grated on her. “That’s Sunday.”
“Sorry, sorry. I’ll come back later.”
She was determined to be gone by the time he did.
THE BIRTH CERTIFICATE seemed genuine. The paper was off-yellow and worn along the folds. It bore an official looking seal. Only the details were wrong. How on earth could she verify those?
She’d said she’d wait for Kate’s help but surely there were things she could find on her own. She had to think like a detective. Briefly Josie wished she read mysteries rather than romance, but they always seemed to involve murder which upset her. On Google, Josie searched ‘find birth certificates nz.’
The first link she clicked had almost 4,000 records when she searched her name. That was far too many. She filtered the search for New Zealand. 7 records; 5 family tree, 2 immigration or military. They were all from the 1800’s. It wouldn’t let her click through to view them without signing up and, after a particularly vicious spam attack several months ago, she wasn’t giving her email to anyone.
She returned to the original search results and clicked the second link. An Australian site. At least it was almost local. Her search brought up death and cemetery indexes, all Australian, all also from the 1800’s.
Josie growled in frustration.
Eventually Josie discovered more useful titles, local ones; get a birth certificate; births, deaths and marriages; births; birth certificates and adoption.
Adoption. That would explain things. Like why her mother was so much older than her friends’ mothers. Maybe she hadn’t been able to conceive. But it didn’t explain everything: like her name, or why her mother had never told her, or why they lit candles for her father.
She clicked through to the Department of Internal Affairs website and read:
“When a person has been legally adopted in a New Zealand court, the birth certificate that we normally issue is the post-adoptive birth certificate, showing the details of the adoptive parents.
If you are born in New Zealand and adopted in New Zealand, you may wish to apply for a copy of your original, pre-adoptive birth certificate, showing the details of your birth before you were adopted. Under New Zealand law, you can do this once you turn 20 years old.
The fee to apply for your original, pre-adoptive birth certificate—”
Josie looked at the certificate on the table. Maybe this was her pre-adoption certificate and she was named after her birth mother. But why would her adoptive mother keep the name? They had the same surname, although Collins wasn’t uncommon.
She continued reading. There was information about how a counsellor was necessary to, “give you information assistance and support.” Perhaps they were worried finding a birth parent would be em
otionally scarring. If she’d had her whole life to build up her birth parents no doubt she would be disappointed. All she felt now was frustration.
The information at the bottom of the page scared her: vetoes. Child or parent could choose not to be contacted by the other. That must be why her mother had never told her. She knew Josie’s birth mother had never wanted her. Josie breathed, refusing to let the wave of helplessness overwhelm her.
There was a contact form. Josie filled in the boxes from the information on her birth certificate and added a note:
“I’m not sure if I’m adopted but the name of my mother on my birth certificate is not the name of the woman who raised me. I would appreciate any help you can give me.”
Her hand lingered over the keyboard. Did she really want to do this? A part of her wanted to know but another was scared what she might find. Screwing up her face she hit the button and, “Thank you for your enquiry. We will process your enquiry within five business days,” appeared on her screen.
It was done.
Her hands were shaking. She made herself up a cup of tea to calm down. Sipping it she read back through the information on the website and noticed a link to request birth certificates. Why didn’t I notice that before?
Clicking through she input her details to request her birth certificate then, almost as an afterthought, she requested her mother's too. Maybe the certificate they sent through would be different. She’d have to wait the two weeks till it arrived to find out.
14
There was nowhere so constant in her existence. Familiar. Safe. But something about being here rubbed wrong. She was a blotch in this beautiful space. Yet still she returned. The building welcomed her begrudgingly, allowing her sanctuary while its very structure hummed disapproval of her being. She knew, instinctively, she should never mount the steps to the altar.
The people were quiet, unaware. They’d only notice her the second before she struck. There was no hunt, no game. They were different from her usual drunks; their gratitude was unsettling so she only ate here out of necessity, then scuttled back into the shadows.
She remembered one winter creeping towards a man on feet that felt like blocks of ice.
“Is that you?” he asked, his white head tilted up slightly. “I can smell you. I’ve been waiting for you.”
He patted the seat next to him and she slid into it, uncertain and on guard.
“I’ve heard about you.” The man turned milky eyes towards her. “Will you make the pain go away?”
She wasn’t sure what was being asked of her.
“I know what you are.”
She struck, pulling the man towards her and sinking her teeth into his neck in one smooth movement.
But it didn’t stop him speaking. “Angel,” the man breathed as his blood flowed hot into her mouth.
She stayed away for a while after that. Or at least she thought she had, she didn’t have a good grasp on time. Sometimes it seemed like she blinked and a whole new structure appeared.
Today her intended victim was a woman lighting candles in an alcove. From up in the gallery she viewed the woman across the nave. On the cusp between middle-age and elderly there was something familiar about the figure; the shape, the stature. Maybe she had fed on the woman before.
She drew closer. Down to the floor, past the pews.
Trying to place the woman made her slower, clumsy. The woman heard her and turned.
“Josephine?”
It meant something to her. It came from the time before. A time when she was something different, when she didn’t hide in shadows, when she did not fear the feel of the sun on her face.
“It’s been so long. How do you—how do you look the same?” There was a sense of wonder in the woman’s voice as a hand reached out as if to touch her.
She flinched away from the woman's hand and gaze.
The woman was crying. “No, don’t go. Please. I never meant to drive you away.”
She stilled. The woman wasn’t a former meal, but something dangerous.
“Don’t you want to see her? She’s grown now...”
The more the woman talked the more it shook her equilibrium. The words had the power to lay bare all that she’d hidden, all that she’d run from.
Clear tears coated the face before her. Sometimes they cried when she ate them but this was different. She would do anything to stop the crying.
She stepped forwards and raised her arms. It was a wooden movement but the woman surrendered willingly into her embrace. The scent itched at the back of her mind, something just out of reach. She had to stop this. Her arms tightened as her mouth found the pulse beating at the woman’s neck.
The woman accepted her fate and made no noise.
The blood came but she didn’t feel a rush. She was distracted, she drank longer than she normally did, trying to find the comfort that was missing. Too long. This one wouldn’t wake in the morning. She lay the body down rather than letting it fall.
But she didn’t leave after. Something kept her there.
From the shadows of the gallery she watched as night fell and quiet reigned. In the morning she edged away from pink tinged light to watch the priest discover the woman’s body. It had lain unnoticed, tucked away, when he’d closed the big main doors.
He knelt and shook the figure then pressed a hand to the wrist. The skin would have been cool to the touch by then. He settled back on his feet and covered his mouth. Then his right hand touched his forehead, his stomach, one shoulder then the other. The same hand reached out to draw a cross on the woman’s forehead and then each palm. The body did not move.
He walked to the front of the building, abandoning the body. She heard the doors close before he returned down the central aisle and disappeared out the back. Sometime later he knelt at the woman's side and murmured. His murmuring was broken by a knock on the big doors. There was a hushed exchange and two men wearing vests appeared, wheeling a trolley down the aisle.
The body was loaded onto the trolley and a sheet pulled over to conceal the form. The men paused to allow the priest to wave his hands above it in the form of a cross, then it was taken away.
She followed the procession with her eyes as it made its way down the aisle which seemed longer than it had before.
She had done this.
She had turned the woman into a thing.
One man held the door open as his companion pushed the body through.
The body disappeared out of view as the doors swung shut behind it.
A tear snaked its way down her cheek. She wiped it away and licked the red remnants from her fingers.
Although she’d fed she felt empty inside, like she’d lost something important. She had no idea why.
15
19 February 2011
“Facebook. No. LinkedIn. No. Come on, Google, help me out here.” It was Saturday and Kate was on Josie’s computer trying to figure out who Josie’s mother was. “I’m not sure what else we can do. You’ve requested your birth certificate and your mother's—for want of a better term—” She rushed on before Josie could protest, “and you put in a query about adoption.” Kate counted off the points on her fingers.
“I felt like I should be doing something.”
“You’ve done really well. You’ve done everything I would’ve. I don’t know what else to do.”
Kate scrolled through the results while Josie sighed and played with the ends of her hair. It felt good to have taken charge but now she was at a loss.
“You’ll never guess who I heard from after our conversation the other day.” Kate said, trying to sound casual.
“Small you-know?”
“Yeah.” Kate continued to stare at the computer screen but the tone of her voice piqued Josie’s interest.
“Hold that thought. This requires wine.” When they both held a glass of red, Josie demanded to know everything.
Kate sighed. “We had sex, then he told me he was back with his wife.”
&nbs
p; “What?”
“They still haven’t addressed any of the issues that led to the break up.” Kate pushed the computer off her lap onto the couch and took a drink.
“Maybe this isn’t the best thing to be talking about.” I don’t want to see you upset. “We don’t really know the ins and outs of their relationship.”
Kate snorted. “Trust me. I know everything. I guess he came crawling back because he got sick of his ex-wife fucking him every which way she can think of to keep him interested while he’s really thinking about me. Why can’t I find a guy who doesn’t want to marry or impregnate me and is a mature adult?”
“He seemed kind of OK from what you told me.”
“Up until the point he cheated on his wife with me?” Another gulp of wine. “His ex is crazy and he’d have to be crazy to be with her. Trust me. I’ve been trying to keep men at arm’s length my whole life then the first guy I give a shit about does this to me.”
“He doesn’t deserve you. I’m sorry.” She was sorry she’d asked too. Gossip was one thing but hurting Kate was another.
“Me too. I was smart to avoid it all these years. It just fucking sucks.” Kate held her glass out for a refill.
“It does.” Josie poured more wine into the glass. “Was, um...” Josie fidgeted, putting her bottle back on the table with her face averted. She wasn’t sure how to ask but she wanted to know what it felt like in reality, not just between the pages of a book.
“The sex? That’s what you want to know isn’t it? What has gotten into you lately?” Kate sipped her wine and her voice became dreamy. “It was-it was the most beautiful experience of my life,” she confessed. “I didn’t know it could be like that. I felt...whatever it is between us...and I know it wasn’t just me. He came so hard I had to wash the sheets twice.” She was quiet for a moment. “I guess we both knew it was the last time so we let our guards down.”
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