The Secret Daughter (24 page)

‘You’re hardly ordinary, Sabina.’

‘Oh, but I was,’ I laughed. ‘Ted tended to date these teeny-tiny stick figure women . . . which I am most definitely not. But for years and years we were just friends, until I finished working on the cruise ships and moved back to Sydney and then . . . it all fell into place for us.’ Lilly smiled at me, and I asked, ‘What about you and James?’

‘James is two years older than me, and I’m pretty sure I only learned to walk so I could follow him around. There’s no story of us falling in love – we just always were, and we always will be.’ Lilly smiled, then I saw her glance into the cab of the ute. ‘He drives me absolutely crazy most of the time. He barely speaks a word and then someone mentions dirt or seeds and he’ll talk for hours. Seriously, who loves
farming
that much?’

‘Ladies, we
can
hear you, you know,’ James pointed out, through the missing back window.

‘I know,’ Lilly shrugged. ‘But you
do
go on, James.’

‘I have actually been politely waiting for you two to give the soppy gibber-jabber a rest so I could explain about these crops to Ted.’

‘What a gentleman,’ Lilly winked at me. ‘Go on, then.’

As we continued through paddock after paddock of small plants, James talked, in far too much detail, about crop rotation and plant breeding and how much they’d increased the yields of their wheat crops in particular by following the science. Lilly rolled her eyes at me and I giggled, and soon struck up another conversation too. She shared her history with me via her memories of the farm.

These were the sites that should have been my birthright – the last dam Charlotte ever swam in, after she got a giant leech on her leg one hot summer day the year she turned twelve, the tree Simon fell out of and broke his leg, then the flat ground where James built a bonfire each year. Lilly told me about the big party they always threw when they finally lit it at the height of winter. Dozens of people would visit, and when the kids were at high school all of the teenagers from surrounding properties would come and camp.

‘They went through this ridiculous phase, they’d dare each other to strip naked and run down the paddock.’

‘In winter?’

‘Oh yes, it was usually freezing, or below, but that didn’t stop them. They’d egg each other on for a few hours and then disappear one by one, and you’d see streaks of white flesh in the distant darkness and hear the shrieks as they ran. They were far enough away to maintain their modesty, but close enough that you could just about
feel
how cold they were. Bloody teenagers. Meanwhile all of the sensible adults would be sitting close to the fire toasting marshmallows or sausages and drinking hot chocolate.’

‘We didn’t do
that
in the city either,’ I wrinkled my nose at her, and Lilly laughed that loud bark I was coming to love.

‘I’m actually glad to hear that!’

TWENTY-SIX

Megan—September 1973

It seems crazy, looking back now . . . but at the time, I really did think that I might have found a genius solution to
everyone’s
problems.

The idea came to me in the middle of the night, as I tossed and turned and relived every second of those moments with Lilly in the birth suite earlier that day. I’d never seen someone suffer such anguish, both during the labour and after, and I was genuinely distraught for her . . . but the truth was, I was as unsettled about my own situation as I was about Lilly’s. For the first time in my life, I was living out of sync with my own values. I was learning the hard way that happiness is repelled by inner turmoil.

I eventually took to staring at the ceiling wondering how on earth we’d both get through this period in our lives, and then in a single heartbeat, all of the pieces of the puzzle shifted into place and I started to wonder if I couldn’t fix the entire mess in one fell swoop.

I knew that I desperately needed to find an
out
. Lilly desperately needed to find some more time, so that she and James could marry and set themselves up for parenthood. And Grae . . . well, Grae
wanted
me to consider adopting, and if that was all the leverage I had, then maybe I could work with it.

The lightbulb went on in my mind, and then all that was left to think about were the logistics. Eventually I fell into a fitful sleep, but I rose early and cooked Grae a full breakfast.

He was tucking into undercooked bacon and burnt eggs when I cleared my throat and threw my idea onto the table.

‘We could do a trial adoption.’

I saw his eyes light up a little, but he was wary.

‘Is that a thing? Why would we do that?’

‘Well . . . it’s not really done very often . . .’ The truth was, I’d made the phrase up on the fly. ‘. . . but there’s this baby at the hospital that we don’t have a home for, so she’ll be going to the orphanage. We could take her for a few weeks.’

‘Why can’t
we
just have her?’

I choked on my coffee.

‘Grae, I told you, I’m not sure that I’m ready to adopt yet.’ The coffee stung my sinuses and my eyes watered, which I knew Grae misinterpreted as tears. His expression softened, but his words were firm.

‘You’ve been telling me that for two years, Meg. We’re not getting any younger. You said this baby doesn’t have a home, why don’t
we
just adopt it?’

‘Well . . . eventually, I think her real parents will keep her. They’re a wonderful couple . . . they’re going to be terrific parents, but . . . they just need for us to buy them some time to get married and maybe to organise a few things before she comes home. We could really help them out if we brought the baby here for a while, and . . .’ This was the tricky bit. I shrugged and tried to appear thoughtful. ‘Who knows? I think it’d help me get used to the idea.’

‘What about your job?’

‘I’d have to resign, of course. A newborn needs a lot of care.’

‘But I thought you
liked
working?’

‘I did. But you know this new job has been a struggle.’

‘So you’d leave your job just to look after this baby for a few
weeks
?’

‘I’ll find something else, or maybe we’ll be ready to adopt our own by then.’ There was a natural lull in the conversation, and when I glanced at him, I could see that he wasn’t convinced. ‘Please, Grae. I
really
want to do this.’

‘Can you even do that – just take a baby home? On a whim?’

‘I can arrange it.’ At least, I was pretty sure that I could. ‘A few weeks won’t make any difference at all. We’ll just postpone registering the birth until her parents are ready to take her back. It will mean her official birthdate is out a little but given the alternative they won’t mind.’

Grae shrugged and went back to his breakfast, while I drank my coffee in silence, thinking about how perfect this solution would be for absolutely everyone. There were still some hurdles, but they were minor – maybe Lilly and James would have to apply to the court for a marriage licence because of her age, but I’d be very happy to do a reference for them, and maybe I could even convince the Captain at the Salvation Army citadel to do one too.

My problems, and Lilly’s, seemed so very serious that I forgot that there was a third set of issues in play here. It was only when Grae looked up at me a few minutes later that I thought again about his part in all of this. There was a strange mistiness to his eyes and an intensity in his expression that I wasn’t sure how to interpret. He reached across the table and took my hand into his and said softly,

‘Meg, everything in our life seems
perfect
to me . . . except . . . there’s this gaping hole in our family where our kids should be. If you think this really is a step towards a family of our own, then go ahead and do it. I was hoping when we took this job . . . I mean, I just kind of
knew
that if you worked with adoption for a while you’d come around.’

I wish he could have seen the anguish in Lilly’s face when the nurse walked out of the room with her baby, or some of the other residents I’d heard about – young women who needed to be sedated because they screamed for their children and disrupted the whole ward, or the miserable cases where a birth mother returned begging for her child, weeks after it was placed.

I wish he’d been in the room when I presented new adoptive parents with their baby son, only to hear the father panic about the hint of darkness in the child’s skin. I wish he’d heard the sad police chief on the other end of the phone, ringing as a courtesy to advise us that a child we placed for adoption last year had passed away in suspicious circumstances.

I’d seen delighted parents too, and children who would no doubt go on to gloriously successful and contented futures. But the truth about our service was that our adoptive parents generally had to pass only two tests before we placed a child: were they white, and were they married? If the answer to both questions happened to be yes, then they could pretty much take their pick.

If Grae thought my experiences at the maternity home had warmed me at all towards the idea of adoption, then he could not have been more wrong.

I didn’t say any of that to him, though. I might have, at an earlier point in our marriage, before the doctor told us in those careful tones that we would probably never have a baby, and that the problems were
all
mine.

I’d likely have argued with Grae about every step in our married life that year – about the arrogance of planning a move without my input, or the insensitivity of lining me up a job that would involve dealing with pregnancy all
day
, every
damned
day. I might have resigned without his blessing for the sake of my own sanity, instead of questioning myself again and again because I felt so sure that he somehow knew better.

But I did not argue with him, and I did not correct him. Instead, I reminded myself as I always did that I was lucky that he was bearing with me, in spite of my barrenness, in spite of all of the pain of our losses.

A lesser man would have walked out long ago.

So I smiled and squeezed his hand, and went about tidying the kitchen so that I could bring the new baby home to a clean house.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Sabina—April 2012

We had leftovers for lunch. Looking at Lilly’s packed fridge, I had a feeling she could serve up leftovers for weeks from the oversized meal she’d cooked us the day before. I didn’t miss the way her face lit up when I asked for the pierogi. Ted and James were engrossed in discussions about the timing of harvests and the impact reduced rainfall in recent years was having. Lilly and I made small talk about the recipes she’d prepared.

‘Time for a grandpa nap, I’m afraid,’ James yawned, when he’d finished eating. He stretched back in his seat as I’d seen him do several times the night before and rubbed his round tummy. ‘Did Lilly tell you we need to head into town tonight to meet the others?’

‘Oh no, I forgot,’ Lilly sat up straight suddenly. ‘I hope you don’t mind. Simon and Emmaline are trying to get into a routine with the twins, they asked if we could head into Orange instead of them coming all the way out here. We’ll have dinner at the bistro, so they can be home early.’

‘Of course,’ I said. ‘That’s no problem.’

‘I might take a nap too,’ Ted said suddenly, and to my surprise. ‘That sunshine this morning has tired me out. Do you mind?’

I shook my head, and accepted the kiss he brushed against my lips as he left the room.

‘He reminds me of James,’ Lilly murmured. ‘I’m so glad you found yourself a good one, Sabina. They aren’t always easy to come by.’

‘He found me,’ I laughed softly, and automatically started packing up the plates from lunch.

‘Leave the dishes. Let’s go sit out on the veranda. Do you want to see some photos?’

I cleared my throat.

‘I’d love to. And would you . . . like to see some of mine?’

I brought my box of albums in from the car and found Lilly on the veranda, resting on a swinging chair. We sat side by side, and she lifted the first album from the box.

‘I keep everything,’ she murmured. ‘You could probably see from the house, I’m a bit of a hoarder.’

‘It’s a beautiful house,’ I protested, but I knew what she meant. Mum and Dad had lead a streamlined life – everything had a place, or its place was in the bin.

‘I just like to be prepared. I like to plan ahead, it makes me feel peaceful,’ Lilly explained quietly. ‘I think it comes from my Tata. He used to terrify me with stories of not having even the most basic supplies when he lived in Poland. He never could stand to see waste . . . I guess I’m the same these days,’ she rubbed her stomach and grimaced at me, ‘I know I shouldn’t but I’d much sooner eat something than put it in the bin.’ Lilly opened the top album to a page of aged baby photos. ‘So you’ll see, I’ve kept the silliest mementoes, and it’s all a bit of a mess. You’ll have to bear with me.’

‘Is that Simon?’ There were several photos of Lilly and a tiny baby on the first page, and a few with James too. They had obviously been taken soon after the birth – she had that worn-out look of satisfied excitement that new mothers often wear. But there was also an unmistakeable sadness in her gaze as she stared down the barrel of the camera.

‘Yep, this is my boy. Developing photos was so expensive back then but I didn’t dare miss a moment.’ There was an extraordinary amount of photos – not by today’s standards, now that it cost virtually nothing to take a dozen photos and pick out only the best; but Lilly had taken that same approach in the film age. The album held photo after photo of baby Simon, and I watched him grow in slow motion, as she flicked through page after page.

‘So many photos of the three of us together,’ she murmured, running her finger over a candid shot of her, James and Simon. ‘I was so scared I’d lose him somehow and I wouldn’t have a recent photo with him.’

The pain in that simple statement gripped me. I stared at a page of photos of my family and although they were posed in a natural triad, I could almost see the space I should have filled.