The Last of the Apple Blossom

by Mary-Lou Stephens

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I won’t stay long. But I would love to see Emily.’

  The door creaked open behind Catherine. She turned to see Angela peeking out. ‘Mummy?’

  The woman advanced up the first step. ‘Is that her?’

  ‘You’ll scare her.’

  ‘Emily. You won’t remember me.’

  ‘Leave her alone, I said.’ Annie’s voice was harsh, pressed out between clenched teeth. ‘Angela, go back inside.’

  The woman crept up another step. ‘Oh, Angela, is it? What a pretty name. And what a pretty girl. Let me look at you, my darling.’ Her voice was like a purr, warm and enticing.

  Angela looked at the arms stretched out towards her. ‘Is that a snake?’

  ‘Why, yes it is. Made of pure gold, with emeralds for eyes. Would you like to wear it?’ She slipped the bracelet off her wrist and held it out.

  ‘Angela, go back inside.’

  But her small hands reached, hypnotised by the bangle.

  The woman took a breath and her smile widened, revealing rows of perfect white teeth. ‘It is you. I know it is.’

  Catherine watched them both. There was something wrong here, but she didn’t know what. Was it her place to intervene? Annie certainly knew this woman. Catherine was in the dark.

  The woman took off her oversized sunglasses. Her face was intensely beautiful – chiselled cheekbones, a wide smooth brow, elegant arched eyebrows and a perfect full-lipped mouth. And her eyes, there was something familiar about them, a kind of bronze and highlighted with dramatic slashes of gold. ‘Emily,’ she whispered again.

  Catherine followed the woman’s gaze and her hands flew to her mouth. It was if she was seeing the very same eyes.

  Dave came barrelling around the corner of the house. ‘The boys said it was an emergency. Are you okay?’ He stopped short to stare at the car.

  The woman straightened and turned towards him. ‘Hello, Dave.’

  He looked at her, startled. ‘Do I know you?’

  She laughed gently. ‘But of course.’

  Mark appeared, wiping grease from his hands. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Ah, there he is.’ The woman’s voice was like a sigh.

  A cold sensation hit Catherine in the stomach. This woman knew Mark? How?

  Mark stumbled and sank to his knees. ‘No.’

  ‘Yes,’ the woman said. She appeared calm in the face of such an odd reception.

  ‘It can’t be.’ He shook his head. ‘It’s impossible. You … you’re …’

  ‘Darling, it’s a long story. I know it’s a bit of a surprise, but you know how I love surprises.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I’ll explain everything. I would never have come back, but I had to see you.’ She looked back towards Angela. ‘And our little Emily.’

  Mark’s face collapsed in anguish. ‘But, Lara—’

  Catherine took a step back, and then another, until she felt the weatherboards behind her. She leant against them to steady herself, but it was no good, the earth was shifting beneath her feet. She had no bones, no breath. He called her Lara. How was that possible? She slid to the wooden deck of the verandah and clasped her hands around her knees, rocking in the storm that engulfed her. She tried to find a true horizon, something to steady her. Beside the big black car, the chauffeur stood unmoved by the drama unfolding around him, the only form of certainty in this dangerous sea.

  37

  January 1967

  Annie

  Annie remembered everything. She’d tried to forget, but that night remained deeply etched in her body and her heart. It had been hot, in the way only a January night could be – dry, fierce and unrelenting. But worse was the dread that something was wrong with her baby. There’d been no kicking, no movement at all for days. The pregnancy had been hard from the start with unrelenting nausea and a body that ached all over, the pain a constant drumbeat. Annie was incapable of doing all the things that needed to be done so Dave had picked up the slack around the house and with the boys. Part of her had wished the pregnancy was over, but now, with the baby so still in her womb, she feared the wish had cursed her unborn child. ‘Stay with me, little one,’ she whispered, touching her distended stomach gently. ‘Please stay.’

  She was in her third trimester. The danger should be over, but instead a sense of dread filled her waking hours and the nights stretched out endlessly. If she did manage to drift off, her dreams were full of shifting, formless frustration and fear – nightmares of trying to escape but getting sucked down into blackness. In less than two months her baby would push into the world, healthy and strong like all her boys. Fierce little fighters, every one of them. But, oh, how she yearned for the softness of a girl, and for all the things they would do together as mother and daughter. She’d given this baby a name that evoked her longing. Angela.

  She was in bed when it hit. Pain rocked through her body from deep in her pelvis, a burst of fire unlike anything she’d known. She was booked into the Cygnet Community Health Centre for her delivery, although sometimes things moved too fast. Both Eric and Paul had been born right here in the house. But she’d never felt like this. A gush of warm liquid rushed from between her legs, soaking the bedding.

  ‘No, please no,’ she whimpered.

  Dave woke beside her. ‘What’s wrong?’

  ‘The baby.’ Annie sobbed. ‘It’s too soon. Not yet.’

  Another wave of agony rocked her body. She clutched at her belly and squeezed her eyes shut. The flare of red that danced beneath her eyelids turned white hot as the pain intensified. ‘No, little one. Please stay with me. Just a while longer.’ Her voice was a hoarse pant through gritted teeth.

  There was a deep stab of pain, and a sudden release. Dave cut the cord as he had done with the boys, but this time there was no little bundle in her arms, no mewling infant searching for her breast. ‘Where is she?’ Annie was certain this one was a girl. ‘Where’s my baby?’

  Dave kissed her gently on the top of her sweat-soaked head. ‘The boys might’ve woken up. I’ll go check on them. When I come back we’ll clean you up and change the bedding.’

  Annie struggled to rise, but pain and exhaustion won out. ‘I want to see her. I want my baby.’

  Tears spilled from Dave’s eyes. ‘My darling Annie. She’s gone.’

  Annie screamed at Dave for taking her baby, and then fell into a blackness that had no time, only pain.

  Mark

  On that night Mark had been woken by a frenzied banging and the sound of the front door being thrown open with a crack that echoed through the still night. It had been hot, as always, a dense dry heat making every surface warm to touch and the cold water in the taps tepid. Mark and Lara slept naked but never touching, the bulk of her belly keeping them apart more than physically. Often she would spend the nights pacing restlessly until exhaustion overtook her, then slump onto their bed in the early hours, still tense but tired enough to doze. That night the violent sounds jolted them both into wakefulness. Lara’s eyes were fearful as she grabbed the sheet and wrapped it around her body.

  ‘Stay here,’ Mark said. He pulled on a pair of shorts and headed up the hallway.

  ‘Daddy?’ Charlie called out sleepily from his room.

  ‘It’s okay. Go back to sleep.’ Mark closed the door to his son’s bedroom and kept walking.

  The front door was wide open. Mark heard a strangled sound coming from outside. A thin edge of grey light silhouetted the surrounding hills. Mark’s eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness. A man was slumped on the front steps. His shoulders shuddered with sobs and he was hunched over a small object.

  ‘Are you okay, mate?’ Mark asked. This man might have thrown the front door open, but he hadn’t entered and he seemed too distraught to be dangerous. Still, Mark was wary, his body tense.

  The man turned. His face was distorted by fierce emotion, but even so Mark recognised him in the dim light. ‘Dave?’

/>   ‘Oh, God.’ Dave sucked in a gulp of air, trying to calm his breathing.

  ‘What’s happened?’ Mark dropped to sit beside him.

  ‘The baby came early. Too early.’ Dave rocked back and forward, clutching the object in his arms. Mark could make out a small blanket-wrapped bundle. ‘Annie’s crazy with grief. Won’t accept what’s happened.’ He stood suddenly, his eyes darting back and forth. ‘I’ve got to get back before she comes to. The boys’ll be scared shitless. All that screaming.’ Tears etched furrows in his face.

  ‘God, Dave, I’m so sorry.’ His words were inadequate, Mark knew, but what else could be said? Annie had been looking forward to this baby, certain it was a girl. And now? Dave’s face told the story – the raw grief and trauma of it.

  ‘I hate to ask this of you.’ Dave turned, a frenzied look in his eyes. ‘Annie – I can’t leave her alone for long. And I can’t let her near—’ He stared down at the blanket in his arms.

  Mark flinched. It couldn’t be? Surely not.

  ‘Please,’ Dave’s voice was desperate, a small keening sound. ‘Bury her somewhere Annie will never find her. High up in the bush where the ground is too steep to be cultivated. Deep though, so the animals—’ He shuddered.

  Mark pulled back sharply. Weren’t there rules around this kind of thing? Procedures? A baby had been born. Not alive, but even so. Was this how it was done? He had no idea. ‘What about a doctor?’

  Dave shook his head. ‘Not yet. Right now, I gotta look after my boys. And my wife. This has torn her apart. Annie refuses to believe the baby is gone. I don’t know what else to do.’

  Mark had never seen Dave in such torment. He got to his feet, searching for another solution but finding none. His best friend was begging him for help. The grief on Dave’s face told a story neither of them had ever expected to experience.

  Mark nodded. ‘Okay.’

  Dave’s face collapsed in gratitude. He gently untangled the bundle from his arms. The growing light of dawn echoed the shade of the blanket, a delicate pink. He took a small step towards Mark.

  Mark tightened his jaw, willing himself not to react. He took the baby from Dave’s arms, expecting the warmth and softness that was Charlie when he was born, but this was just a tiny thing, so light as to be almost unnoticeable. With Lara’s due date so close, only a matter of weeks now by her rough estimate, Mark couldn’t help wondering how he’d cope if he were in Dave’s position. He glanced down and was grateful the blanket was arranged like a shroud, hiding any sight of the baby.

  Dave reached out to touch his daughter one last time before he turned and walked away.

  Mark’s progress up the hill was awkward and tentative, marred by the shovel he held in one hand while keeping his small charge tucked into his side with the other. He wanted to blank out the truth of what he was doing. It was too awful to be real. Any moment he’d wake to discover this was just a fitful nightmare brought on by heat and the closeness of the air. The path he needed to take through the scrub, native grasses and eucalypts became clearer as the sun began its relentless ascent. Already the day was heating up and sweat made the bundle clammy as he climbed the steep slope. Almost at the top, in a hidden place no one would ever find, he put his burden down and began to dig. The shovel bit into ground that was hard and dry, parched from drought. Sweat stung his eyes but Mark kept digging, the steady rhythm and exertion helping to dull his thoughts. He didn’t stop until the hole was deep, much deeper than needed, but finally he had to lay the small pink bundle in her unmarked grave, far from her mother and father. So far from anyone who might have known her and loved her. He knew it wasn’t right. He also knew he’d always feel guilty. But if he’d refused Dave, the guilt would be worse.

  A rustle in the dry grass and the sharp snap of a twig caused him to falter, shame and fear roaring in his ears.

  ‘Mark?’

  Lara had followed him, leaving Charlie on his own, as was often her way.

  Mark stared into the hole; the evidence was there, barely covered with earth. ‘Born too soon.’ His voice was thick. ‘A girl. Dave said she never had a chance.’

  Lara showed no surprise. She must have overheard him and Dave talking. She knelt beside the grave and sprinkled some dirt into the hole. ‘Darling girl, may the angels take you home. Peace and love be yours forever.’

  Mark berated himself silently. He hadn’t thought of saying a few words over the grave. Part of him was grateful Lara was here to make his grisly task more bearable.

  ‘Poor Annie.’ Lara struggled to her feet and brushed the earth from her hands. ‘She wanted this baby so badly. She told me our babies would almost be twins.’ She smiled wistfully. ‘Can you imagine? Both of us with girls so close in age – we couldn’t help but feel a bond.’

  ‘Two girls?’

  ‘Oh, yes. I’m certain this is a girl.’ She rubbed her stomach. ‘Even more so now.’ Her smile had a strange quality to it.

  Mark felt off balance and for a moment wondered why. Then he realised – this was the first time he’d heard Lara refer to their unborn baby in any way approaching fondness.

  From then on Lara softened towards the child in her womb. Up until the death of Annie’s baby, Lara had either railed against her condition or been in complete denial. When she’d first fallen pregnant again she’d raged at Mark, blaming him for ruining her life. She’d refused to tell anyone about the baby, even her parents, and her behaviour had become erratic again. Lara sometimes disappeared all day and into the night. On the days she didn’t sneak away, she stayed in bed, hardly eating and screaming at Mark if he suggested calling a doctor or even worse, her mother. He’d feared for the wellbeing of their unborn child, but neither begging, cajoling nor threats had led to a different outcome. When she could no longer disguise her growing belly she’d refused to see her parents or any of their friends. She hated the way she looked, she told him, she couldn’t bear anyone seeing her. Between keeping an eye on Lara and looking after Charlie it became harder for Mark to keep his commitments to the band. When they’d decided to make a go of it in Britain, he knew they’d be leaving without him.

  At his wit’s end, Mark had rung the only person he could trust. Dave had suggested they come and stay at the orchard for a while, which had seemed like a godsend. They’d have a house of their own, away from the prying eyes of the press and the clamouring of fans. Hopefully Lara would relax once she was away from the city and in a place where no one knew her. The pressure of the constant lies to their friends and Lara’s parents about her pregnancy had worn on Mark. It would be best for everyone if his family got out of Melbourne for a while.

  They’d arrived at the orchard in the first week of January and within less than a week his hopes were dashed. Lara didn’t want to see the valley or the orchard, rejecting suggestions of country drives or walks by the river. She’d refused to go to the health centre in Cygnet. She’d even stopped Mark from making an appointment for her, saying once people realised who Mark was they’d have no privacy. It would be Melbourne all over again. Dave had told him about Annie’s two homebirths and that she could help if Lara wouldn’t go to the centre when the time came. Mark was not greatly reassured.

  And in all that time Lara had never referred to the child in her womb with love or affection. When Annie had come to visit them in the old house, chatting about preparations for a new baby, Lara had refused to engage. The only time she’d showed any interest was when Annie had joked that their babies would almost be twins. Lara had become animated, asking Annie how she’d cope with twins. Mark had found it curious, but there was so much about Lara that never made sense to him.

  Now, although he’d never admit it to anyone, he was grateful that the loss of Annie’s baby had impacted Lara so profoundly. It was as if the tragedy had shocked her into realising how fortunate they were. When the baby kicked she pressed her hands against her belly and laughed, reaching for Mark’s hand so he could feel a tiny foot stretching against its confines. She asked Ma
rk to sing lullabies for their daughter, convinced the baby would be a girl.

  ‘What shall she be called?’ Lara asked one day. They were sitting in the shade of the verandah where a slight breeze eased the searing heat a little.

  Mark was caught by surprise. The past months had been so difficult, he was yet to become used to Lara’s change in attitude. ‘I’m not sure.’

  ‘I had a great-aunt called Emily. Sensationally creative and completely mad. I’ve always liked the name.’ Lara’s smile was so open and appealing he felt himself relax in its warmth.

  ‘Emily it is then.’

  Lara nodded and rubbed her belly. ‘Little Emily. You will be the most adored little girl in all the world.’

  A lump formed in Mark’s throat. He’d wished for things to be different for so long and now his wish had come true. His small family was happy and content. Life was good.

  Another hot day. Even the birds were struck dumb with the heat. The orchard shimmered in waves and Charlie was fretful and grumpy. Mark took him to the main house to give Lara some peace. Charlie was shy around Annie’s brood, unused to other children. But it was good for him to experience the rough-and-tumble of play, instead of the adult-centred life in Melbourne. The boys were in the backyard, playing under the sprinkler. Mark encouraged Charlie to join in but he clung to his father’s leg. ‘What about the sandpit?’ Mark suggested. ‘There’s a Tonka truck just waiting to make some roads.’ Charlie silently walked over to the sandpit and began to push the truck through the sand.

  Mark found Dave in the kitchen, looking as dishevelled as the house, with dirty dishes and piles of laundry on every surface. It had been over two weeks since Annie’s baby had been stillborn. Mark hadn’t seen her since. ‘How’s Annie?’

  Dave shook his head, his face grey with fatigue. ‘She stays in the bedroom, crying. Doesn’t come out, not even for the boys. I don’t know if I did the right thing, asking you to – you know.’ Dave frowned and looked away. ‘Now we’re stuck. We’ve lost a child, but nobody knows except us. I can’t go into town, don’t think I could face people. Eventually they’ll find out. I mean, everyone knew we had another one on the way. It’s such a mess.’