Steal My Sunshine (20 page)

It's a busy morning but I get to all the customers like I've been doing this my whole life. They wouldn't believe it if I told them where I was really from. The way to survive is to keep talking. I never let the shop go quiet. That way, I can pretend that this is really my life I'm living even if that's not how it feels.

Sometimes I look around for a face from my past, for someone who knew me in London, so I can say,‘Can you see me now?'. I'd laugh and they'd be horrified and just a glimpse of that would make it worthwhile.

Olive's got the baby upstairs. It's like Connie belongs to all of us now, and that feels safer. Nobody could love her like Olive does.

Mrs Logan's at the doctor's, she hasn't been well. It's up to me to run things. I'm good at it, too.

Fat Mrs Pringle walks in. She'll want her usual – two vanilla slices, a large lamington sponge and half a dozen Eccles cakes. The woman looks like she's made of raw cake batter, and lots of it. I wish Mrs Muir a good day and turn my smile on Mrs Pringle.

‘Isn't it a beautiful morning?' I say. I'm not stretching the truth there. It's autumn and I've never felt more in love with the place.

‘It certainly is, Essie. Now then, I'll take –'

‘Don't you worry, Mrs Pringle, I've got it all right here.'

‘You're a wonder! I hope Mrs Logan knows how fortunate she is. Now, where is she today?'

‘She's out for the morning, Mrs Pringle. Shopping, she said.' Mrs Logan didn't want people knowing her business with the doctor. I didn't blame her. The gossip around here is just how I remembered it being at school.

‘I see.' Mrs Pringle leans over the counter, where I'm cutting a long strand of ribbon. ‘And who is looking after the baby? Such a dear little thing.'

I'm tying a bow on Mrs Pringle's box. ‘Olive. Here we go then. Enjoy those, Mrs Pringle.'

Mrs Pringle leaves with her goods and another customer arrives, and another, and another. The work is nonstop but it's different. I'm Essie again.

Olive has Connie in a routine now. She never cries and she takes all her milk, she even smiles now. This is how it should be for me, I realise. Maybe some girls would mind not being the one to take care of their baby, but this is what I'm good at and Mrs Logan says she's never seen Olive so happy.

Five days later, Mrs Pringle walks into Logan's again. I smile and say, ‘You're two days early for your order, Mrs Pringle, but you're in luck, we've got a new batch of vanilla slices here.'

She doesn't smile in her usual way and now I see that the man and woman who came in behind her are not more customers, they're here for some other reason.

‘Can I help you all?' I say.

‘Essie, could you fetch Mrs Logan?' It's the man who says this.

‘She's not well. She's in bed.' As I'm saying these words I realise I should have lied. And for the first time I wonder if the worst decision I ever made was to use my real name again.

‘Could you fetch the baby then?' The woman this time. ‘Connie – isn't that her name?'

‘Why do you want to see her?'

‘If you could just do it, pet, that would be the best thing,' says Mrs Pringle.

My skin is tingling. I can feel something bad is happening but I can't grasp why. ‘She'll be asleep. It's not very convenient. Perhaps you'd like to come back another day.'

‘Not another day, no,' says the woman. ‘Is the baby yours, Essie?'

‘No! Of course not. She's my sister's.'

‘And your sister is . . .?'

‘She's dead.'

Another customer tries the door but the man steps briskly towards it and puts the lock on, pulling down the blind in a swift, sure movement.

‘And where is . . .' The woman looks at a notepad. ‘Miss Olive Logan?'

‘She's upstairs. She's very good with the baby, is that what you mean? There's nothing to worry about. I trust Olive.' I look at all three faces, but they remain completely unmoved and it unnerves me so much I can't keep myself together any longer. ‘You're not taking her.' I slam my hands on the counter. ‘You're not!'

‘Essie, this is not a matter for you to worry about,' says Mrs Pringle, as if she and I are on the same side simply because I've been serving her fat face with vanilla slices for a few weeks. ‘These people are just doing their job. It's all for the best.'

When they walk out of the shop with Connie in their arms, I feel like all the air is sucked out of me.

 

‘But Essie, they couldn't do that!' I said. ‘She was yours, you can't just take a baby off its mother.'

‘They could do what they liked and they did,' said Essie, with all the fury of being cheated and robbed, just as fresh as it must have been on that day.

‘I didn't mean it was your fault, Essie.'

‘It's all right, I know what you meant. It's a lot to take in. I had no paperwork, you see, to prove Connie was mine or that she had anything to do with me. I'd lied about her in the first place.' Essie kept her eyes downcast and I knew that deep down she felt guilty. Knowing she'd been powerless didn't change that.

‘I was too scared to tell the truth in case they sent me somewhere,' she said. ‘Mrs Logan couldn't help me either. She was worried they'd take Olive. But I know she felt it terribly.

‘Olive died the next year. We thought it was a broken heart that did it. She'd been strong as an ox before. Mrs Logan only lasted three more years after that and by then I'd met Malcolm. He was a friend – a good friend. I didn't have any others. I could never make friends with girls for some reason. Maybe it was because of Jo. I envy you two.'

Chloe nudged me but I couldn't respond – I could hardly breathe. Essie carried on.

‘With Malcolm, I hoped we'd settle into the kind of partnership I had in mind. We were still only children ourselves when I think about it, but I'd grown up so much in those years – lost my innocence, I suppose. I wanted someone I could trust and feel safe with. But on top of everything else, he so wanted a child. I resisted for as long as I could but then I saw a way. Eventually he got what he wanted.'

‘You mean Mum?'

‘Yes. Malcolm worshipped her. She was good as gold with him. I couldn't do it, you see. I had the shop to run. Mrs Logan had left it to me. You understand, don't you, girls?'

‘Course we do,' said Chloe.

‘Hannah?'

‘Yes, Essie, I understand.' I couldn't stop thinking about Mum, the way Essie had described her just then. It reminded me of Mum talking about Sam and me as babies. Sam was the angel who fell asleep on cue and ate everything she put in front of him. He was so good he made her think she could have another. Then along came me. Mum'd laugh and tell Angie and Margot that I cried from the moment I came out until the moment I could crawl. She didn't sleep for six months because of me. I was allergic to everything and didn't put on weight fast enough. I was a worry. When she talked about me like that it was as if I'd done it on purpose.

But what if, somehow, Mum had lost Sam? What if she hadn't had him to love, and instead she'd just had me, the difficult one?

‘I want to make up for everything, girls,' said Essie. ‘Before I die.'

‘Essie, you're not dying!' I said. ‘Don't say that.'

‘Do you want us to find Connie for you?' said Chloe.

‘That's what I wanted for a long time.' Essie's fingers quivered as she brought them to her lips. ‘Malcolm tried for a while but he had nothing to go on. I had nothing to show for her. And now that it's caused so many problems for your mother, I think it's best left alone.'

‘What problems?'

‘I shouldn't say. I don't want to cause trouble.'

‘You won't, Essie. Secrets don't do anyone any good. Come on, you can trust me.'

‘Well, your father leaving.'

‘What's Dad got to do with any of this?'

‘It's not my place.' Essie was rearranging the blanket on her lap, and I got the feeling I was being manipulated. I couldn't connect the dots in here; it was stifling. ‘I know I did wrong but I can't be blamed for everything,' she said.

‘Of course not, Essie. No one blames you,' I said.

But that wasn't true. Essie had been a bad apple on our tiny family tree since forever. I'd never truly understood why, and I still didn't – there was something she wasn't telling me. I needed to leave Essie's and talk to Mum, and find out what Dad had to do with this.

‘Essie,' I said, shifting forward onto the floor, ‘what did you mean about wanting to make up for everything? You mean you and Mum? I could talk to her, tell her to come here. If she heard your story properly, the way you've told me, I'm sure . . .' I wasn't sure of anything and ran out of words.

‘Can you hear that?' she said. ‘That crying?'

‘It's a baby from across the street again. It's always crying. Essie, listen, I want to help you.'

‘I knew you would, darling. That place robbed me of every hope I ever had of loving a child in the way it deserves to be loved. Jo could have survived it, if they'd let her. Even with what she'd been through she'd have made a good mother. A lot of them could have. But not me. I was no good. I never held your mother when she cried, never resented the time away from her when I was working. In those early years my only goal was to keep her.' Essie clutched her hands to her chest. Her face looked so desperate that I was scared of what was coming next.

‘I love her now though, Hannah. More powerfully than you can imagine. Surely that counts for something.'

‘Of course it does.'

‘I know it's not enough,' she said crossly. I saw her turn on me, the way I'd seen her do so many times with Mum. ‘I've told you things I haven't told another living soul. I've trusted you.'

‘I know, Essie, I –'

‘Who else trusts you like I do?'

‘No one.'

She stood up, clearly in pain, and looked down the hallway. ‘She's always crying. The mother doesn't pick her up.'

‘Essie, come and sit down. It's hot and you're tired from all this. We should go.'

‘I want the baby, Hannah.'

‘What?'

‘Don't look at me like that. Listen to me . . .' She faltered and jabbed the floor with her stick. ‘I don't mean to keep . . . I'm not insane. I just want you to bring the baby here, to me. I want to hold her.'

I started to laugh and looked at Chloe for help, but she was dead serious like Essie.

‘Well, invite them over then,' I said. ‘I don't understand what you're saying.'

‘That wouldn't work. I don't want the mother here.'

‘Essie, you're scaring me.'

‘Shit, you're even scaring me,' said Chloe.

‘You're nervous, darlings, and I understand. You need time – but I don't have much of that. I'm old, I'm ill. I don't want to die without ever feeling that life in my arms.'

‘But you had me and Sam, Essie. You must have held us when we were born.'

Essie's face darkened. ‘I didn't. You can ask your mother why if you want to. Listen, it wouldn't be a crime. I've watched that mother – she's like me, no good. She won't care – she won't even notice.'

‘Essie! Stop it. I'm not having this conversation.'

She grabbed the arm of her chair, her eyes wild with a fury meant for me. ‘Sister called it divine retribution. Well, I took my punishment. I carried Connie for miles, made her part of my life.

‘I felt pain when she cried, but no one felt mine. I felt peace and something like love when she slept, but nothing had prepared me for the relentlessness, the brutal up and down, the desperation. She needed too much.

‘And for those years with Mrs Logan – when we had Connie and after she was gone – I had to make everyone believe that I was really just a young girl doing her sister a favour. Not a mother. I was never really Connie's mother. And when Sara . . . came along, as she did, I couldn't be a mother then either. The Sisters were right.'

Chloe said the words I wish I could have come out with. ‘They were thieves, simple as that.'

Essie nodded and cried. ‘I need to hold that baby. Is it possible for you to understand?'

I couldn't think of what to say. What did she want me to do, just knock on the door and ask to borrow the screaming baby? I couldn't do something like that in a million years. Why had she picked me?

‘Just for a moment,' she said. The cry of the baby seemed louder than ever. ‘Do this for me.'

 

 

 

We walked in silence down Essie's front path. A car went past, the wind blew the trees, clouds moved across the sky – the world was just the same as it had been before and it would go on being the same, even after we found out that girls like Essie had been locked up and abused, and their children had been taken away and never seen again. But I didn't feel the same.

The door of the house across the road opened and two old men came out. They were in shorts and singlets and Blundstone boots; both had beards and mops of shaggy hair. One had pasty white arms that stretched out like pizza dough when he raised his stubby to his lips; the other was an Indigenous man with deep-set eyes and grey streaks through his hair.

They sat down on the mismatched garden furniture arranged on the plain stone porch. They were laughing, enjoying each other's company. I thought back to a few days ago when Essie's story had really begun – when I'd found her in her chair. The day Dad left.

‘Why've we stopped?' said Chloe.

‘I just have to do something.' I needed Chloe to dissolve out of the picture for a moment. Those men had been bullying Essie and it was about time someone stood up for her.

‘Well, do it then.'

‘I am.'

I walked up to their wire front gate. They looked younger close up. There were two fluorescent vests draped on an old barbecue.

‘G'day, love,' said the pasty one. ‘You lost?'

‘No, I've just come from my grandmother's – there.' I pointed to Essie's place behind me.

‘Ah yeah, she okay, is she?' said the other man. ‘Haven't seen her lately. We used to have a bit of a chat in the mornings.'

‘Did you? From what she said it was a bit more serious than that. Don't bother her again or I'll call the police.'

‘What's she on about?' the pale one said to his mate.

‘You scared her,' I said, gripping the fence tighter. ‘It's not right.'

The men gave each other a look; I wasn't getting through.

‘Did you hear what I said? I know you've been calling her names through the door, intimidating her.'

‘Look, love, I don't know what's going on with your nan,' the Indigenous man said, ‘but we've been nothing but civil. I put her rubbish bins back on the porch every week, say hello whenever she comes out to get the paper, I even get her bloody milk from time to time – that's about it. So I don't know what you think's been going on, but I'm telling you now, it hasn't.'

His eyes were sincere but hadn't Essie looked that way too? I backed away from them without saying another word. I had to believe her. She'd told me so much this past week; why would she have lied about this? I heard Mum's voice from all the times there'd been trouble in the past – times that hadn't involved me, when I'd just been a little girl. To unsettle you, Mum might say. To test you. To cause a split between us.

The men shrugged at each other and carried on drinking.

‘What was all that about?' said Chloe.

‘Doesn't matter.'

‘You might as well tell me, chick, I know everything else.'

‘You don't know everything.'

‘What's up your nose?'

I couldn't deal with her right now, I had to focus. ‘I'm just all stressed out about Essie's story.'

‘Tell me about it,' she said. ‘Shall I come back to yours to hang out?'

‘Not today. Maybe tomorrow. Okay?'

‘Sure. Whatever.'

We walked in silence along the bay, a distance apart so that a passer-by could cut through us. Our friendship felt so fragile and complex. In one way, I wanted to drop it and never look back, but I was desperate to know what she was thinking about Essie.

She linked arms with me. ‘We should do it.'

‘What?'

She shrugged and gave me an impish look. Her eyes were smudged black after a long afternoon in Essie's stifling lounge. ‘Don't worry so much. You always worry. You're the luckiest person I know and yet you worry, Han.'

‘I can't help the way I am.'

‘Well, I can help. I reckon that's why Essie wanted me to know everything. 'Cause she knew you'd be too gutless.'

I stopped dead and pulled my arm from hers. ‘Piss off, will you?'

She look surprised and stifled a laugh. ‘Whoa. You sound like me.'

‘Well I'm not you, I'm me and this is my problem, Chlo. Okay? My family has nothing to do with you.'

Chloe's face turned deadly serious. I realised I was terrified of her and that I had no more idea what was going on inside her than she understood about me.

‘There's your tram,' she said sternly. ‘You'd better run for it.'

I did run, because I had nothing left to say. I ran away just like she told me to.

‘Run faster!' I heard. And it wasn't until I was on the tram and catching my breath that I began to think that, no matter what I did, both Essie and Chloe had a hold on me.

 

The house was dead quiet. I kicked off my shoes, peeled off my socks and walked along the cold wood floors to the fridge. I sunk my teeth into a wedge of watermelon and switched the radio on before I noticed her sitting there.

‘Jesus, Mum! You gave me a heart attack.'

‘Sorry, love.'

She sounded like she had a cold. There was a box of tissues in front of her. And when I ditched the watermelon and sat beside her, I could see she'd been crying.

‘Where's Sam?' I said.

‘Not here.'

I moved a tiny bit closer. ‘Are you upset about Dad?'

She patted my leg and tried to put on a smile but it was as if her face wouldn't quite stretch. ‘Partly that. And some other things. I'm sorry for the way I've been, Hannah. The way I've treated you.' She started to sob, and after a while her mouth gaped open like she wanted to say more but there was all this raw pain that had to pour out first. I felt scared, but more than that, I felt protective. And that was new for me and Mum.

‘Mum, it's okay.'

She caught her breath and I could see the effort it took for her to pull herself together. Then she squeezed my arm to bring me closer, a little uncertainly, as if she'd forgotten the rules for her and me.

‘We're fine, Mum.'

She nodded and took some more deep breaths, and it felt good to watch her calm down because of something I'd said.

Unlike a lot of other times, I wasn't going to make Mum work any harder to get close to me again. I wasn't going to make her explain why she'd shut me out. All I wanted was for this horrible part of my life to be over. For the first time, that goal was more important than the things that used to get in the way, like pride and hurt and thinking that she loved Sam more.

‘Where've you been?' she said.

‘With Essie. Don't get mad.'

Mum sighed, exhausted. ‘I'm not. There are some headache pills next to my bed, can you get me a couple?'

I went to get them, wondering how Mum would take Essie's story. It felt like a huge risk to tell her but an even bigger one to keep it secret. Essie and her past would always be wedged between us.

Down the side of her bed was the package that had arrived the day after Dad had left, the one Sam and I had fought over at the front door. She still hadn't opened it.

‘Do you want to know what's inside?'

‘Mum, you made me jump.'

She sat heavily on the bed and took the pills I gave her. ‘It's a book.'

I laughed softly. ‘I can see that, Mum.'

‘It's about finding yourself.'

I guessed it was something Margot had recommended to go along with making pots and sniffing lavender. ‘Why haven't you opened it?'

‘Because I'm scared of what I'll find. You open it.'

I sat next to her, and while I pulled the cardboard apart, she stroked my hair.

‘
Trace Your Roots with DNA
,' I read out loud. ‘Why do you need this, Mum? Is it about finding Grandpa?'

She held my hand. ‘I don't have the same DNA as Grandpa.'

‘Oh god, I didn't know.'

‘Or Essie.'

There was a stillness and silence between us like the split-second a firework bursts. ‘What? What do you mean? Of course you do.'

She shook her head. ‘No, I'm not hers.'

‘But . . . how? Mum, she told me Grandpa had wanted a baby and they'd had one in the end. And that was you.'

The doorbell rang.

‘That'll be your dad,' she said.

My heart skipped. ‘Here? Why?'

‘Just to get some more things.'

Mum cleared away some tissues. She looked in the mirror and tried to comb out her hair with her fingers.

I stayed put, nervous about seeing my own dad, but more than that, feeling like my thoughts were a broken spiderweb – all the pieces of history that had been carefully strung out, swept away with one revelation.

As soon as Dad walked in I burst into tears. His lovely, kind face, the lines on his forehead that curved all the way around to his temples like he carried every single worry of our family right there, his dad-jeans with the shirt tucked in. I ran over and put my arms around him. He didn't push me away even when I'd finished crying – he never did.

‘Dad, why did you have to leave?' I said. Over his shoulder, Mum looked worried, and I felt bad for acting like such a kid. ‘Sorry, I just want to know what happened. Was it something to do with Essie?'

Mum walked away but she didn't seem angry or anxious, more like she was giving us space. Dad guided me over to their bed, where we sat close and he held my hands. ‘It was lots of things,' he said, tucking my hair behind my ear. ‘We tried really hard, Hannah. Neither of us wanted this.'

‘Then why?'

‘I've tried to understand your mother for years but I'm a simple man, what can I say?' He was trying to make light of it. This was always his way and maybe it was why we'd always been close. He wanted to believe that life was simple and funny and light, and that's how he'd made me feel. Full of hope, no matter what. Without him, I'd sunk to the bottom of every day like a stone.

‘Don't say that, Dad. That's not fair.'

‘It's fair,' said Mum, who'd returned without me noticing. She was holding the book. Mum sat on the floor opposite me and Dad, and handed the book to him.

‘You're doing it then?' he said.

‘Finally.'

A look passed between them; the kindest look I'd seen them exchange for months, maybe even years.

‘Mum, I still don't get it,' I said. ‘How can you not be Essie's? Why don't you just ask Essie where you came from?'

‘I only found out because we wanted to register Sam's birth. I needed my birth certificate. I'd only ever had a short version – very few details. It turned out to be a fake. Don't ask me how Essie had managed to get away without having one for me all those years, but she did. Until then. She said if I tried to find out the whole story I'd regret it. She also told me my dad would leave if I didn't keep it to myself, and she was right, he did. I never saw him again.

‘I thought maybe they'd adopted me from a rape victim or a prostitute – something society would find shameful. But it didn't make sense when my dad left, as if it had been a total shock to him. Then I was scared to find out.

‘I didn't see Essie after that. Not until you were a year old and I had an attack of family again. She was all I had. I've been back and forth from Essie so many times I've lost count.'

I didn't know what to say. It explained some things and made everything else even more confused. Who was Mum? Who were we?

‘You've been going there a lot, haven't you?' said Mum.

‘A bit.'

‘And did she tell you about Connie? And about how she got to Australia – all that?'

‘Yes, but she told me it was a secret.'

‘It was for a long time. I only got it out of her after I promised she could see you and Sam more often.'