Steal My Sunshine (24 page)

 

The day after was the first performance of
Oklahoma
at school. I knew Essie wouldn't be able to come. We'd hired a nurse to sit with her. It wouldn't have mattered if I'd stuck with my one line, but after everything had happened I'd gone to see Mr Inglewood. I wasn't just Cowboy 3 any more.

‘I want to do something bigger,' I'd said. ‘I don't just want my crappy one line. Sorry.'

‘Sorry for what?' he'd said.

‘Saying crappy.'

He'd laughed, but it was obvious he wasn't going to make it too easy for me. ‘All the parts are taken, Hannah.'

‘I know, I don't want to be up on stage. I could co-direct.'

He'd stayed silent. I'd imagined him having a dozen different reactions but none of them was indifference. It made me even more determined.

‘I can do it,' I said firmly. ‘I think I'd be good.'

‘Right then.' He smiled, and I knew he'd just been testing me. ‘Deal.' We even shook hands. He was all right, I suppose. He fancied himself a bit, but then again, there weren't many of us who didn't. Except me, that is.

We were about to go on. Chloe and I had done a brilliant job of each pretending the other didn't exist, but now we were stuck in the same space backstage. This felt like the one issue that hadn't been resolved, left open and raw so it could never really heal.

I was right by the table where she was laying out props.

‘Nice hat,' she said. It was sarcastic but it was also our first conversation in weeks so maybe I could run with it. Mr Inglewood had told me I still had to go on stage and say my stupid line even though I'd directed the whole thing.
Co-
directed.

‘Thanks,' I said. ‘And it's roomy, so I've got my one line hidden underneath it in case I forget.'

‘Even you couldn't stuff that up.' Chloe had her back to me and was frantically rummaging through a pile of clothes. She twisted round. ‘I can't find Tess Edwards' other shoe,' she said, wide-eyed.

‘Where is it?' Tess hissed from beside the curtain. ‘I'm on in five minutes.'

‘Sshh! Keep your wig on,' I said. I bent down to help Chloe. It was odd being so close to her now. Her arms stopped moving suddenly and she gave me a conspiratorial wink as she showed me Tess's shoe before burying it underneath a pile of holsters and billy kettles and frilly parasols.

I giggled, but then straightened up and gave Chloe a look.

‘Oh, fine, Miss Director.' She rolled her eyes and flung the shoe. Tess nearly fell over trying to put it on, and then ran off.

It was just the two of us again, plus a bunch of other girls in costume who had no idea what had happened between Chloe and me.

‘So . . .' I said.

‘Yep . . .' Chloe crossed her arms. ‘Listen, it's pretty shit how things turned out. But Evan wanted me to tell you that nobody made him ask you out. Even though I still think it's gross, he did like you.'

I don't know how well I managed to hide how happy this made me feel, but I gave it my best shot. ‘Okay. Thanks.'

‘I don't know how to say this to you, Hannah.' Chloe looked at her feet. I'd never seen her so awkward. ‘I think maybe we're not that good for each other.'

I smiled. ‘I think maybe you're right. It was fun though. Most of the time.'

She shrugged and winked at me, still so pretty and still a really special kind of person. And then it felt over. Properly finished. Another weight dissolved.

It took a few minutes to adjust my eyes to the lights bearing down on the stage. Then I could make out faces in the audience. On the right, Mum next to Ange next to Margot, then Sam and Dad, all in a row. I imagined the jokes we'd later share in the kitchen about how many fans had turned up just to hear me say ‘Howdy'. Margot whispered something to Sam and he pretended to get it, though I saw him make a face when she turned away.

I walked the path I was supposed to take to the makeshift fence, I found my mark in between Rachel and Justine. And then, before I even had a chance to get nervous, I said my line. It wasn't such a big deal, after all.

 

 

Mum stopped the car at the opening of the gravel drive and wound down the window. The building was grey and grand. Gum trees stretched out on either side like arms, and a patchy lawn surrounded it like a billowing skirt. A stern, overdressed blot on the landscape, with the injustices we knew about seeped into every brick.

It had been two years since Essie's secrets had become ours too. Mum, Sam and I were only a few weeks into our road trip. Last week we'd been to Rose and Patrick's Sydney art gallery. They'd passed away and their grandson ran it now. He was stoked to have the painting back. It was part of a series that was worth thousands of dollars. Mum said we could have kept it if I'd wanted to, but it felt like her choice to make, not mine. Maybe it could mean something less complicated to someone else. These days Mum and I were collecting vintage posters, and our hallway was lined with those now.

We'd also tracked down Aunt Caro's old place in Brisbane. She was long-dead too and hadn't had children, but we'd just wanted to take a look. It was exactly as Essie had described, except now it had kids' bikes out the front, a family-sized Holden and a trampoline.

We sat in silence as we took in the retreat, as it had been called. It was used for aged care now. That was a good thing, I supposed, but part of me wished it had been pulled down. And part of me would have liked to help smash the bricks apart. Not that it would have done any good. But what else were you supposed to do with that sense of injustice and rage?

We'd read up on Magdalene Laundries and found so many stories like Essie's in blogs and chat rooms. Sometimes I had to stop reading because it had felt like spying – though these stories were old, the pain was still fresh.

Mum was transfixed. I wondered if she'd had to actually see it for herself to believe it had all been true. I tried to picture a young Essie walking out of there with a baby in her arms. We still hadn't found any trace of Connie. One minute it would consume Mum, the next she'd say she was too afraid to know.

It was the same with her own story. Mum had watched a film about a woman who'd knitted a jumper every single year on her child's birthday after he was taken from her at birth. And afterwards Mum had said, ‘What if my real mother never gave me a second thought? It's too much risk.' All we could do was try to keep up.

The only sound was the murmur of our car.

‘Are we going in then?' Sam said from the back seat.

Mum turned away from the window. ‘I'd like to go in alone,' she said, then turned to me. ‘Do you mind? I know you must be curious too.'

‘You go.' I didn't want her to see my disappointment – suddenly this felt like the way to do the right thing, because it was what she needed.

Mum squeezed my knee, turned to smile at Sam and switched off the engine. She looked scared. We watched her go up the gravel path and through the oversized front door.

Sam got into the driver's seat and turned the key so we could put the radio on. He pressed each preset button but there was no reception. He tried them all again anyway, pressing them a little harder each time.

‘Use your iPod.'

‘Oh, yeah.' He reached into his pocket and pulled out his headphones, pushed the seat as far back as it would go and closed his eyes. I knew that he didn't feel a connection with this place because he hadn't heard Essie tell the story. Being second-hand, it had lost something, or maybe it was a boy thing. It didn't matter, because Mum and I had each other for this.

Essie had liked it in Mary Street, with me and Mum, for those last few months. As bad as it got sometimes, in her lucid moments she said it was the most peaceful time she'd ever had.

I thought I knew back then how much I'd miss Essie but it was even sharper than I'd imagined. It came back at all sorts of unexpected moments. Grieving for her turned out to be as unpredictable as knowing her.

 

Mum's boots crunched on the gravel towards us. She poked her head into the window; Sam was still in iPod land and didn't stir.

‘How was it?' I said.

‘Strange. But good. I'm glad we came.' She looked back at the imposing building. ‘Helps me understand a bit more, you know? I can imagine her, fifteen and terrified, but most likely pretending she wasn't, knowing Essie. She never got over it.'

I saw her try to hide a tear. She wiped it away as if it were a piece of grit in her eye. Then she nudged Sam through the window and he jolted awake, arms flailing everywhere. Mum and I laughed as he clambered into the back, getting caught up in his headphones, and swearing.

‘They were nice to me. I didn't go into too much detail. They said the only documents we might be able to get hold of are the admission registers. Nothing else.'

It didn't matter to us. Essie had taken everything there was to take with her to Melbourne. Mum had thought about trying to trace the Watsons – the family who gave Connie back to the retreat – to fill in the blanks. ‘But I suppose that's their story, not ours,' she'd said.

‘I'm starving,' said Sam, leaning forward. ‘I mean, sorry, Mum. Did you want to hang around a bit more?'

Mum and I laughed. We knew he cared just as much as we did, really.

Mum turned the key and slowly pulled out into the road. I squeezed her hand on the steering wheel. Then she put her foot down and we lurched back in our seats as we tore down the road until that place, and all its history, was nothing but a tiny dot in our past.

 

 

 

This story began in 2006 and has since taken me on several journeys. Sincere thanks to those who were there from the beginning and to those who got on board somewhere along the way. Special thanks to: Zoe Walton, Catriona Murdie and everyone at Woolshed Press; Louise Burns, Hilary Johnson's anonymous reader, Kate Gordon and Ophelia Leviny; Caroline Green, Luisa Plaja and Alexandra Fouracres; my friends and family, especially Aaron, Madeleine and Jonah; the late Joan Brown, an extraordinary grandmother; and, finally – Melbourne, Australia: thanks for having me.

 

Go to
www.randomhouse.com.au/teachers
to find Teachers' Resources for Steal My Sunshine, including more information on the practice of forced adoptions in Australia and internationally, its effect on thousands of women and families over many decades, and the investigations that are currently underway.