The Secret Daughter (19 page)

Ted was silent for a long moment. I turned to glance up at him.

‘Well?’

‘I think this really has to be your decision, Bean,’ he said quietly.

‘Come on, Ted. Help me
out
here. I’m ready to hit the
send
button, the only reason I’m not is that you seem nervous.’

‘Of course I’m nervous. You’re nervous too, or you should be. But if this is what you think we need to do, well, we may as well go for a drive this weekend.’

I brought the photo back up onto the screen and stared at it for a moment. Were Ted and I the missing pieces of their puzzle, or were we extra parts that would never quite fit?

‘We could meet somewhere in the middle. Or maybe we could invite them here first?’

‘Bean, we can’t even fit a sofa bed in here. Are you suggesting we invite them to come visit us and put them up in a hotel?’

‘Good point,’ I sighed, and then I groaned with the frustration of it all. ‘I wish I could talk to Mum about this. It would all have been
so
much easier if I was dealing with it with their support when I was say . . . five. Or ten. Or when I turned sixteen, or even eighteen? Why
now
?’

‘Judging by the way this has played out, you’re pretty lucky you found out at all. And if you
really
want to talk to Megan, why don’t you just give her a call?’

‘Because I’m sick of begging her for information. And because they’re so damned stubborn and it’s not fair at all.’ I had a sudden moment of decisiveness and I sat up straight and drew in a deep breath. ‘You know what? I think we
should
offer to drive out and meet them, this weekend if they’re free. But if we get there and it’s awful you have to think of a reason for us to leave.’

‘Is “
this is really awkward and Sabina doesn’t like you”
a good enough reason?’ he grinned at me and I sighed impatiently.

‘No, it’s not. Do you think it will be like that?’

‘I think it’ll be a bit awkward, but I don’t think it’ll be awful, and I’m quite confident that you’ll find
some
common ground. And if you don’t, we never have to go back. Right?’

‘Right.’

‘So we’re doing this?’

‘Let’s do it,’ I said, and I sat my hand over the mouse and sent the email.

TWENTY

Lilly—August 1973

Dear James,

I’m so sorry for doubting you, and for the horrible things that I said in my last letter. All that I had to go on was what seemed to be silence from you.

But now I know that you came for me.

When I came in for dinner last night, I heard that there had been some kind of trouble. The girls were all whispering about how, while we were at work in the afternoon, several people had to be removed from the home by security. I wondered if it was you, but that made no sense to me; I figured if it
had
been you and your parents, then surely they’d have just come for me and I’d be safe at home in the cottage by now.

Mrs Baxter called me out the laundry today and she told me what’s been going on. She didn’t know either, at least, she
says
she didn’t . . . and I suppose I have to trust her.

But now we understand that you and Ralph and Jean have been trying to get me released. We know you’ve been working with a lawyer and that you’ve been calling every day.

Mrs Baxter said you’ve tried every possible angle, and that you’ve fought for us relentlessly. So we know that you came yesterday to try to take me home, and Mrs Sullivan had the security guards drag you outside, and you caused quite the scene. And not just you, but your wonderful, feisty parents too.

And then she told me that none of it even matters in the end.

Yet again here I am feeling utterly stupid at how naïve I have been. I
noticed
that no one has ever tried to get me to sign any relinquishment paperwork, but I thought that was because they could see that I’d never do it, not in a million years. I was kind of proud of that, actually. I thought that they could see that I was strong.

Mrs Baxter showed me my file today. I remember seeing the letters BFA marked on it on that terrible day when Tata admitted me. Today, I learned that BFA stands for
baby for adoption
, and it’s a marker to the staff that the decision has been made.

It’s just that in my case, the decision was made by Tata, not me, and because I am a minor, that’s apparently more than enough.

Mrs Baxter said that she took my file home on her lunch break and called your Dad from her own house so that Mrs Sullivan wouldn’t know. I wish that I was more surprised to hear that Tata has threatened you with the police if you cause any more trouble. Mrs Baxter had to explain to me what statutory rape is and why they really could arrest you, and what that would mean for you.

I understand now that your hands are tied, just as mine are.

But James, I’m so proud of you. And I’m so grateful, truly I am, for how hard you’ve fought for us. The only thing worse than what is happening now would be to face it truly alone, and I
feel
your love for me and our baby through all of these wonderful attempts you’ve made to reach us.

I wanted to keep my chin up. I wanted to be positive. I wanted to hold onto hope.

Do you know what happens when all of the hope is gone? It feels just like death must. I am crying, all day and night. The colour is gone from the earth, and overnight, I see the world in shades of miserable grey. The other girls are trying to be kind to me, even Tania, who has brought me food to the room, but I don’t want to waste energy on eating.

Every second that I’m awake I try only to
remember
. I feel a kick or a roll or a punch and I try to describe the way it feels to myself, with words in my mind that I can come back to. A baby can be taken, a memory can fade, but if I can hold onto those words, I’ll have something of her with me. Sharp jabs. Violent rolls. Gentle wriggles. I will never, ever forget the gentle little wriggles.

I hug my belly and I cry and I still can’t believe that even my body curled around her will not be enough to protect her.

Sometimes I think she has the hiccups. I feel these little jumps that come like the beat of a song. I want to smile at this, because it’s so bloody adorable, but a few days ago when she was hiccupping I thought about how cute that is and then it made me realise how much I’m going to miss in her life and now every time I feel it I start to the panic of what’s coming and—

Oh James. I can’t do this. I just can’t. I can’t let her go. I
can’t
not see her first smile and steps and every little moment that comes after.

How can I even continue to
be
if this is going to happen to us?

All that I am now is a bloated mess of fear and dread and loss, and once she is taken from me, there will be nothing left worth keeping.

Lilly

TWENTY-ONE

Sabina—April 2012

Liliana replied to my email within three minutes.

I knew exactly how long it took, because I stayed right there at the computer, watching the clock in the corner of the screen.

Dear Sabina,

I’m so glad that you’re as anxious to meet us as we are to meet you!

Can we talk on the telephone and arrange a meeting? Please call me, I’ve put all of my other contact details below.

Love, Lilly

I dialled straight away. My hands were shaking as I hit the keys on the phone, and then I held Ted’s hand as I waited for her to answer. It didn’t help allay my nerves one little bit that she greeted me with a sob.

‘Is that you, S-sabina?’

‘Yes …. Hello! ... It’s me …’ Was that a stutter I heard? I was crying too, and could barely form my own words.

She was laughing and crying, and I laughed and cried too. I was still in front of the computer, and I released Ted’s hand to shrink my email and bring the photo of Liliana’s family back into focus.

‘Thank you so much for finding me,’ Liliana said. I could hear the smile in her voice, and I smiled too. ‘I am so glad that you did. Are you well? Are you happy? Where are you?’

‘I’m well – I’m
very
well, I’m in Sydney – my husband I live in Leichardt, in Sydney. We’re expecting our first baby at the end of the year.’

‘Oh, a
baby
!’ she was crying again. This was how I’d wanted
Mum
to react – sheer, unbridled joy at the news of a new life. I fumbled for Ted’s hand again and let the tears flow freely down my face. ‘That’s just so wonderful, Sabina. Just so very wonderful.’

‘We want to meet you, if you want to meet us,’ I said. ‘We – I mean, my husband, Ted, and I – we’d really like to meet you and James.’

‘Yes. Absolutely. Please, please do. We can come to you? Or we could meet somewhere – or,
oh
! W-we’d love to show you the farm. Could you come to the farm? I know it’s a long way, but we’d love you to visit.’

‘We can do that,’ I said. The excitement in her tone was infectious and it was mirrored in my voice when I spoke. ‘This weekend? Can we come this weekend?’ When just a second passed before she responded, I tripped over my words trying to explain myself. ‘There’s just so much I want to talk to you about – so many questions and so much I want to know – I don’t want to rush things and I understand if you have plans, but if you don’t—’

‘Sabina, we would be
honoured
if you would visit us this weekend. You’re coming from Sydney? It’s probably too far to travel here and back in the one day. We have plenty of room, if you’d want to stay with us.’

I opened my mouth, and looked at Ted, who shrugged at me and pointed to his ear to remind me that he couldn’t actually hear her.

‘We’d – we’d love that,’ I said, but it was her turn to read the hesitation in my voice, and she added hastily,

‘Or, if that’s too much too soon, there’s a little hotel in the village near us. I could organise you a room.’

I reminded myself that if things really did get too much out there, we’d always be able to find a way to leave. Besides which, in every step of this journey I’d been conscious of how
I’d
feel if I were in my birth mother’s shoes. If this were
my
child reuniting with me after a lifelong absence, I’d want her under my roof. I’d want her to be bold and brave enough to be vulnerable as we set out building our relationship.

I’d want her
near
to me, if there had been such unimaginable distance.

‘No, we’d love to stay with you. If you’re comfortable with that, if you’re sure that’s okay.’

‘Of course. Of course it’s okay, you’re family – we’ll be honoured to have you here.’ She was crying again. I released Ted’s hand and clutched the receiver with both of mine, almost overwhelmed by the onslaught of her emotions.

‘I can’t wait to meet you, Liliana.’

‘Please, call me Lilly. And I can’t wait to meet you too.’

TWENTY-TWO

Lilly—September 1973

Dear James,

Our baby came last night.

There is not much to tell you, and I don’t have the energy to go into the detail. Maybe eventually we can talk and I can tell you more.

It was a long labour, and no one told me as much but I felt like both she and I were in trouble toward the end. Eventually, I couldn’t even bring myself to try anymore, and just then Mrs Baxter came in and helped. They gave me a lot of drugs over the days of the birth and all that I can remember is the pain, and the relief when finally there was someone in the room who was kind enough to take my hand. The baby came soon after that.

I only saw our girl for a few seconds, but in that time, I learned her by sight because I knew that there would never be the chance to know her by touch, or even to catch a waft of her sweet scent. All that I had was those seconds, and if sheer force of will ever could stop time, I’d have done it, I swear to you. I have never worked as hard as I did then, trying to imprint those moments into my mind.

First I saw the dark thickness of the hair on her head – surprisingly thick, stuck to her head in sticky swirls as if it might be curly. Next I saw her face – I think and I hope and I pray that I captured that little face in my memory; I tried to stamp it onto my eyelids, so that I can carry her with me and see her whenever I close my eyes. She had tiny, scrunched up features and she seemed furious that she’d been dragged out of the warmth of my body into the cold air. I love that and I was so proud of her – our baby has the
fight
about her to protest all of this, even in her first seconds. She had cherubic lips, and in that instant that I saw her, she was already rooting, searching hopelessly for my milk. Her chin was squished up and the sides of her face were bruised a bit, and she has a large, perfectly round belly . . . and she is
indeed
a girl, James.

We have a daughter, and as soon as that really sank in, I watched her disappear.

I had been so scared about what that moment would feel like – I knew it would be awful, but I’d underestimated the way that I’d love her the instant I saw her. I could never really have understood how much I had to lose until the moment it was being taken from me.

There has never been a purer being on this earth than our baby, James; never a purer emotion than the love I feel for her. I am not even angry that they have tainted that by taking her from me. I am too devastated to be angry, too broken to fight anymore, too lost to want to find my way home.

My arms are empty and that emptiness feels bigger than the earth itself.

The full depth of grief has swallowed me. Sometimes over the hours since, I have felt like I couldn’t even breathe and it didn’t matter a single bit because I don’t even want to.

But James, in spite of all of this, I have not cried and I don’t think I will – maybe never again. I stare at the roof and I think about a geography class once where we learned about those giant dams they build overseas. That’s how big my grief feels, as big as the biggest dams in the world all joined up together and somehow held back only by the thinnest membrane. If I rip that membrane and let a tear or two out, what good will it do? Mere tear drops will not lessen the pressure of such an immense mass of grief – I will feel not an ounce of relief. There is just no point to tears when a pain is this big.