The Silk Thief (51 page)

‘You must miss her so much,’ Harrie said.

Rachel remained silent for some time. Then: ‘It’s as though my heart’s been torn out.’ Her voice was hollow and distant.

Harrie rolled up a pair of James’s socks. ‘Are you lonely?’

‘No, I’m not lonely.’ Rachel turned her head towards Charlotte again, her silver hair shifting in a shimmering wave.

‘Bum, Mama.’ Charlotte had the doll’s drawers off now.

‘Bottom,’ Harrie corrected.

Rachel said, ‘She calls you “Mama”.’

Harrie felt the tea towel she was holding slip from her fingers and fall into her lap. Here it was — the confrontation she’d been dreading. There was a disconcerting moment of thinking that she, too, was falling, that all the strength was draining out of her limbs, then the sensation passed and the fear receded as another emotion swept through her. When she recognised it, she wanted to laugh. It was relief.

‘I’m so sorry, Rachel. I know she’s not mine.’

‘No. She isn’t.’

‘I do love her, though.’

‘I know that.’

‘I love you, too.’

‘I know.’ The corners of Rachel’s mouth flickered in a smile. ‘You loved me more than my own mother did. You
were
my mother, Harrie.’

Harrie wiped her face with the tea towel, her tears washing away the corrosive and poisonous guilt she’d carried for so long. Her sadness was draining away like an ebb tide, and already she could feel a sense of calm flowing through her.

‘So,’ she said. ‘What will we do?’

Rachel leant forwards, her small, white hands on the armrests of the chair. ‘You already know. Don’t you?’

And Harrie nodded. Because she did.

That night, in bed, when the house was quiet and still and nothing stirred outside except for Angus creeping sneakily through the undergrowth in the garden, Harrie whispered to James, ‘Are you asleep?’

‘Not quite.’

‘Can I say something?’

James rolled over and cuddled behind her. ‘My dearest, you can say anything you like.’

Harrie was silent for several long seconds. James took the opportunity to sniff her hair; he loved the scent of the soap she used.

Eventually she said, ‘It’s just that, well, I can’t remember ever saying this to you, and I want to.’

James couldn’t see her face, but he thought she might be blushing.

‘I love you, James. Very much. I really do.’

His heart swelling with love to such an extent that he didn’t think he could speak, James held her even more tightly.

The following Sunday, another warm and sunny day, Sarah, Friday, Harrie and Charlotte, and Daisy went for a picnic in the Domain, which had recently been opened to the general public.

Sarah thought it would be interesting to see the exotic trees and plants imported by various botanists of note. Friday said she didn’t give a shit about trees, but a day out would be nice. However, she wasn’t traipsing all the way to the end of Anson’s Point just to sit in Mrs Macquarie’s stupid chair. That sounded like far too much hard work.

As they passed through the gate at the end of Bent Street and into the Domain, Sarah asked, ‘Should we eat first or have a look around?’

‘We should probably eat,’ Harrie said, Charlotte slumped in her arms, red-faced and sweating. ‘Or at least have something to drink. I think Charlotte’s over-heated.’

‘She does look a bit hot,’ Sarah agreed. ‘Shall we find a nice cool spot under some trees?’

‘What about down by the shore?’ Friday suggested, even though it meant another walk of at least ten minutes. ‘It’s always cooler by the water.’

Harrie nodded. ‘Then we can watch the ships. She likes the ships.’

So off they went again, Friday carrying Charlotte now, Sarah lugging the picnic basket and Daisy with the rug folded under her arm.

Harrie hummed to herself. It was lovely here with all the pines and trees and plants she’d never seen before, and the wide-open, grassy spaces perfect for children to run around on, though the grass was suffering quite badly from sunburn. From here, they couldn’t see Mrs Macquarie’s Road way over on the eastern side behind all the trees, but there were smaller roads and they passed several gigs and quite a few folk out walking. Harrie waved.

She felt good, the deep sense of peace that had come from talking to Rachel still with her. Also, she’d woken with a feeling of expectation and it had been building all morning. Something was going to happen today — something momentous.

‘She’s not too heavy?’ she asked Friday. Charlotte had her head on Friday’s shoulder, but she was awake, keenly watching everything around her — a mangy feral cat crouched beneath a bush, wallabies in a stand of trees, birds wheeling in the sky.

‘No, she’s fine.’

‘Ships!’ Charlotte cried suddenly as Sydney Cove came fully into view.

‘Clever girl,’ Harrie said.

Sarah pointed at a copse of trees some yards back from the shore. ‘What about down there? That looks a nice shady spot. And it’s private.’

As soon as Daisy spread out the rug, Friday handed Charlotte back to Harrie, collapsed onto it and yanked off her boots and stockings.

‘Bloody hell,’ she complained, examining her bright pink toes, ‘my feet look like lumps of Turkish Delight.’

‘Well, why did you wear those heavy boots?’ Sarah said.

‘Because I always do.’

Harrie settled Charlotte on the rug in the shade, took off the child’s cotton bonnet, fluffed up her hair, and removed her little kidskin shoes. ‘There, that’s better, isn’t it? Would you like a drink?’

Charlotte nodded vigorously. ‘Lemerade.’

‘I’m going to wash my feet,’ Friday announced. ‘They stink.’

Daisy giggled as she unpacked plates and cutlery from the picnic basket, looking for the bottle of lemonade.

Friday wandered off towards the water’s edge. ‘
Fish!
’ Charlotte shrieked after her, making her almost leap out of her skin. The coarse grass felt nice on her bare feet. It petered out into sand, which formed a tiny curved beach barely five yards wide, bordered by slabs of rust-coloured rock tilting into the sea. The waves were nothing to speak of, not even a foot high, slapping onto the grainy sand with such a beguilingly insistent rhythm that Friday, tired from a late shift at work, felt she could easily lie down and sleep for an hour. She hitched her skirts above her knees and waded in, sighing as cool water washed over her hot feet and splashed up her calves.

She paddled about in the shallows for a few minutes, then retraced her steps, getting sand all over her nice clean soles. Returning to the others, she saw that Daisy had laid out the picnic.

‘This looks good.’ She sat down cross-legged beside her. ‘Did you cook all this? I can’t cook to save myself.’

Daisy blushed. ‘Oh, no. I only made the chicken pie and the bread. Mrs Downey made the lemon cheese tarts and Mrs Green made the biscuits. I don’t know who made the sausages. The butcher, I suppose.’

Friday nodded. ‘Very nice. What have we got to drink?’

‘No gin,’ Sarah said.

‘That’s all right. I brought my own.’ Friday fished in her reticule and pulled out a hip flask.

Pointing to the food, Charlotte said, ‘Cake, Mama.’

‘No, you can have a sausage first. Or would you rather have some pie?’

‘Cake.’

‘That’s sweet,’ Sarah said. ‘How long has she been calling you “Mama”?’

Harrie said, ‘A week or two.’

‘Did you tell her to?’

‘No, she just said it one day.’ Harrie cut a small slice of pie and gave it to Charlotte. ‘It is sweet, but it gave me a shock. She can’t have forgotten Janie already, surely?’

‘I doubt it,’ Friday said. ‘But I suppose, in her little two-year-old head, the one who does the cuddling and putting to bed and what have you is the one who gets called Mama, and that’s you now, isn’t it?’

Harrie sat back on her haunches. ‘But I’m not her mother, am I?’

Sarah and Friday exchanged uneasy glances.

‘I saw that,’ Harrie said, and laughed at their worried faces. ‘Don’t worry. I know I’m not, but it really doesn’t matter. I honestly think everything’s going to be all right.’

Sarah asked suspiciously, ‘All right in what way? What do you mean?’

Cutting a loaf into slices, Harrie said, ‘I understand everything a lot better now. I know what I need to do to make sure I’m at peace with all those things that were making me ill.’ Noting Sarah’s doubtful expression, she added, ‘Truly, I do. I haven’t felt this calm and relaxed for a long time.’

‘Really?’ Friday grinned. ‘Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’

Any response Sarah might have been going to make was drowned out by an ear-piercing squeal from Charlotte pointing at the feral cat, which had followed them and was now hungrily eyeing their picnic.

‘Angus!’ she announced in delight.

Friday said, ‘That’s not Angus, love, that’s some other dirty old cat.’

‘Angus isn’t dirty,’ Harrie protested.

‘You know what I mean.’

Before anyone could grab her, Charlotte scrambled to her feet and made a dash for the cat, treading squarely on her slice of pie. The cat saw her coming and, not unexpectedly, streaked off through the undergrowth. Charlotte, her focus solely on her disappearing target, fell over. She sat up, noticed the lump of chicken pie stuck to her foot and held up her leg with both hands.

‘Pie, Mama!’

Friday roared with laughter. Daisy and Sarah giggled themselves silly and even Harrie laughed. Friday and Sarah stared at her — it was the first time they’d heard her really laugh in ages.

Daisy got to her knees, but Harrie, giggling, said, ‘It’s all right, I’ll get her.’

She carried Charlotte back to the rug. Although most of the pie had detached itself by now, the child’s foot was coated with dirt, twigs, and chicken and mushroom filling.

Examining the mess, Harrie tutted and said, ‘Oh dear. Now I’ll have to rinse her off. Can someone finish slicing the loaf?’

‘God, that was funny.’ Friday dabbed at her eyes. ‘That was the sort of thing that kid of Nora’s would do. Hannah? You should meet her, Daisy.’

‘No, she shouldn’t,’ Sarah said, reaching for a sausage. ‘She’s a menace.’

‘An entertaining one, though. She’s certainly got character.’

‘Like Clifford, you mean?’

Harrie was almost down to the sand when Rachel appeared, just above the low waves about twenty yards out into the harbour. And even though she was quite a long way away, Harrie knew she would be able to hear every word Rachel was going to say. She stopped a few feet from the water.

‘Who’s that?’ she asked Charlotte.

Charlotte gazed out towards the waves, squinting against the millions of diamonds sparkling off the sea’s surface.

Harrie said, ‘That’s Mama, isn’t it?’

‘Mama.’

‘It’s time to give her back, Harrie,’ Rachel said as she swayed and shimmered, her flowing hair dissolving into the midday sun.

‘We have to go now, sweetie,’ Harrie told Charlotte. ‘Wave bye-bye.’

She turned so Charlotte could see the others under the trees. Friday was looking, then so were Sarah and Daisy. Beyond them, on a narrow carriageway winding among the Domain’s trees, the sun glinted off the lacquered door of a midnight-blue curricle.

Charlotte raised a chubby arm. ‘Bye-bye,’ she whispered.

Harrie waved, too. Goodbye. I love you, Friday and Sarah. And James. This is for the best.

She waited until the others had turned away, then walked into the sea. It wasn’t cold, and Charlotte wasn’t heavy, and Rachel was waiting for them, her arms open wide. And then the water was up to her waist, floating her skirt and freeing her legs, then it was to her chest and Charlotte was crying and clinging tight, and Rachel was still hovering ahead of them like a blazing angel in a church window, and someone was shouting and the ground beneath her boots changed from sand to hard, slimy rocks, and she lost her footing and slipped under. But something tore like fire at her head and she popped back to the surface again, her ears full of water, and she was being dragged on her back by her hair and one arm and couldn’t get her feet on the ground. Her eyes stung, she couldn’t see. Where was Charlotte? Oh God, she’d lost hold of Charlotte! She thrashed and kicked out and tried to scream but got a mouthful of seawater and choked on it. Something hauled on her skirt and she rolled over, and she was out of the water and scraping face down across sand and grass, coughing and coughing, and then she stopped, retching. She tried to say Charlotte’s name again and it wouldn’t come out, then a blurry, dripping wet Sarah was crouching in front of her, hugging Charlotte, who was screaming herself blue in the face.

Harrie coughed again and someone thumped her across the shoulders and she vomited. Hands pulled her into a kneeling position and she leant to one side, coughing, retching and spitting until it was all out. She blinked furiously — her eyes finally cleared of seawater and tears, and Friday was beside her, drenched and white-faced, her hair plastered to her skull. She caught sight of Daisy standing over by the picnic rug under the trees, her hands over her mouth.

‘What the fuck were you doing, Harrie?’ Sarah demanded furiously. ‘How
could
you?’

Harrie burst into sobs. ‘You don’t understand.’

‘No, we don’t. You could have
drowned
her.’

‘No, I was giving her back. To Rachel. To her real mother.’

Sarah thrust Charlotte at Harrie. ‘For fuck’s sake, Harrie,
you’re
her real mother. Rachel’s dead.’

‘Sarah!’ Friday said, alarmed. ‘She might —’

Sarah sent her a swift warning glance. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

‘No, you
don’t
understand,’ Harrie said again, sobbing and gathering Charlotte in her arms, gently joggling her without even realising it. ‘She was out there, waiting for us.’

‘She was
not
. That’s just a lot of shit in your mind. You conjured it, Harrie. It’s not
real
!’

‘But I
saw
her. I see her all the time!’

‘Harrie, do you really think the Rachel we loved —
our
Rachel — do you really think she’d want you and Charlotte to drown? To
die
? Well, do you?’