The Secret Daughter (21 page)

‘I was not!’ Lilly called from inside the house, but there was a laugh in her voice. This was clearly a well-loved game between them.

‘Nee has kind of outgrown the game now, but sooner or later the twins will enjoy them so the concrete menagerie remains,’ James sighed.

The next bedroom had been freshly painted – very freshly, judging by the faintly lingering scent. The bottom half of the walls was a deep brown, the top half a more sober beige. There was an armchair and heavy wooden bed with an extensive array of pillows at its head.

The room looked suspiciously perfect – even the furniture seemed new. I wondered if Lilly had decorated in the four days between me agreeing to visit and my arrival. If the crazy, over-the-top spread in the kitchen was anything to go by it was a real possibility.

‘This is beautiful,’ Ted said as he looked around the large room.

‘It was Simon’s when he was a kid, now it’s our guest room, but we were thinking you two could take this room, this weekend, and of course if you ever want to visit again,’ James said, a little stiffly.

‘Thank you, James,’ I said softly. His more gentle hopefulness was easier to bear than Lilly’s over-the-top exuberance.

He showed us their bedroom and the bathroom, and then I finally realised how nervous he was when he lead the way into the laundry and then stopped dead.

‘Not much to show you in here. I don’t know why I brought you down here.’

‘We know where to go if we need to wash clothes while we’re here,’ Ted said, I suppose trying to make polite conversation. James laughed.

The hallway looped around to the enormous kitchen and dining room. Ted whistled when he saw the spread of food over the dining table. Lilly had set up a porcelain dinner set and formal cutlery layout, but the rest of the table was covered in mismatched plates and bowls.

‘Done,’ she said. ‘Are you ready to eat?’

There was a large, low feature light over the enormous table, the slightly yellowed shade throwing a warm light over the room and resulting in a surprisingly intimate feel. Ted and I exchanged a wide-eyed look over the sea of food before us. There were cakes and biscuits, slices and breads, soups and salads and a series of traditional Polish dishes that I’d never even heard of.

Lilly fussed about, loading up a plate for me to sample this and that, and James sat and silently watched her. I tried to make small talk, but for the most part, I was just watching them –her anxious busy-ness, and James’ concerned silence. There were tears in his eyes from time to time, but he did not look at me, he stared only at Lilly. I wished I could read his thoughts.

‘Try this one first,’ Lilly said, when she finally sat the plate before me. She pointed to a chunky dumpling, sitting in a little nest of bacon and onion. ‘That’s a pierogi.’

‘Pierogi,’ I repeated it as if I’d never heard the word before, trying to roll my
r
the way she had. I glanced at Ted, and he nodded at me. We were both thinking of Mum’s pathetic attempt at pierogi; burnt, chewy chunks of pastry wrapped around overcooked and under seasoned beef mince. Mum’s efforts suddenly seemed almost insulting, compared to these tidy little parcels which had been fried with bacon and onion.

I picked up the fork and awkwardly chopped the dumpling, then speared one side of it and stuffed it into my mouth. It was delicious – salty and hearty, the pastry smooth and soft – together the tiny package was a satisfying surprise. I made sounds of delight and reached for the second half, and Lilly squeezed her hands together in front of her chest and squealed a little.

‘I’ve always wanted to show you the food I grew up with. The original Sabina –
Sabinka
– she was my grandmother. She died in the war, so I never met her, but her pierogi’s were
legendary
. I can give you the recipe. I made you donuts too, the way my Tata used to at Easter time. See those there?’ She pointed to an awkward, crispy donut on the side of my plate near the cakes. ‘I’ve had those every Easter of my entire life. Sometimes I raised the batter by parking the car in the sun and letting it sit in there. And that fish is
sledzi
, it’s pickled in vinegar with onions and peppercorns—’

‘Lilly,’ James spoke softly. ‘Honey, please sit down.’

‘I just need to get Ted a plate first. He’s driven all that way. What’s your heritage, Ted?’

‘My family is ladled right out of the cultural melting pot, we’re part-everything,’ Ted said, and he rose, and reached to gently take the plate from Lilly’s hand. ‘I can serve myself, Lilly. Why don’t you sit down and chat with Sabina?’

Her eyes were still red. Lilly looked at me, and they swam again. She reached to take the plate back from Ted, then wrung her hands together, and nodded at me. Finally she rounded the table to sit beside me.

‘I can’t believe you’re really here,’ she whispered. I had a mouth full of donut and I mumbled something which hopefully expressed my happiness. ‘I had dreams like this sometimes. Only you’re even more beautiful in real life than you were in my dreams.’

‘You’re only saying that because I look just like you,’ I tried to make a joke when my mouth had cleared. She was eating me up with her eyes, savouring my presence. Of course she was. I’d expected her to be intense, given the situation. I just hadn’t really expected to feel awkward about it, but sitting there as the object of adoration, for a woman that I did not really know, had left me surprisingly self-conscious.

‘You really do look like me,’ she was still speaking in a slightly awed whisper. ‘I’d have known you for sure, if I passed you on the street. I
always
looked for you.’

‘This farm,’ Ted said suddenly, and I shot him a silent
thank you
with gratitude in my eyes. ‘How many generations has it been in this family?’

‘Four,’ James said, leaning back in his chair. ‘My great grandfather combined a number of parcels to create the property we hold now. And next door, Lilly’s brother Henri and his wife hold land that was in Lilly’s mother’s family for four generations too.’

It seemed strange that I was sitting on a place that had been owned by my family for hundreds of years. I thought that some part of me at least should feel as if it had come home, but I felt nothing so profound, only exhausted and nervous and uncomfortable. And, blessedly, hungry.

‘Did you come from big families?’ I asked.

‘I have one brother, he lives in Melbourne now,’ James told me.

‘I have seven siblings,’ Lilly said softly.

‘Wow.’

They both laughed at my surprise.

‘Will you two . . . do you think you’ll have more than . . .’ Lilly motioned now towards my stomach and I laughed.

‘A few, hopefully.’ Ted answered for me. ‘Not
seven
. We’ve probably left it a little late for that.’

‘We’ve been travelling so much, until the last few years,’ I explained, although I’m sure I didn’t need to defend myself. ‘Then we were setting ourselves up. The timing hasn’t been right until now. You have three grandchildren though?’

I wanted to use different words, and as I planned the sentence, I intended to. It was at the very last instance that I self-edited. Instead of asking them if they had ‘three
other
grandchildren
already’
, I just confirmed that they had ‘three grandchildren’. It seemed a little presumptuous to refer to my unborn child as their grandchild.

‘Simon and his wife Emmaline also took their time. He’s three years younger than you and they’ve just had their twins this year. Charlotte, on the other hand . . .’ James and Lilly shared a glance. ‘She married and divorced young. Neesa is twelve now, Charlotte is thirty-four. She told us she was pregnant the day she finished her apprenticeship. Then of course her husband left and she’s been on her own for the most part ever since. I can’t believe you’re a teacher too.’ Lilly grinned at me, then drew in a satisfied breath. ‘It must be in the DNA. Who would have thought?’

‘Not me,’ I laughed softly. ‘Mum and Dad convinced me to do a post-grad certificate in education, I had no intention of ever using it until I came back from overseas and realised that I needed to do more than just sing in bars one night a week.’

It was only when I finished speaking that I realised that I’d referred to
Mum
and
Dad
as such. I waited for them to react, but Lilly pressed on with the conversation as if she hadn’t heard me.

‘I’m sure you must have my mother’s voice, she never had any training but she sung all of the time. She used to walk around the farm singing. Usually we knew where she was by listening for her song.’

‘Were you close?’ I asked, and a sadness settled in Lilly’s eyes.

‘Things were complicated with my parents,’ she murmured. ‘We didn’t speak for many years once I finally left home. Just before she died, we made peace . . . but I so wish she could have heard you sing, she’d have been so proud.’

‘Are Charlotte and Simon musical?’

‘Charlotte takes after me, she can’t even play her iPod in tune,’ James chuckled. ‘Simon probably had some talent but no desire to develop it. Neesa, on the other hand . . .’

‘Yes, Neesa is quite the singer. She’s young, but she’s got a real passion for it. They’re all excited to meet you at dinner tomorrow.’

‘I’m excited to meet them too,’ I said. Excited, and petrified.

Somewhere in the house, a clock sounded a series of bells. We listened, each silently counting.

‘That’s eleven,’ James said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. ‘Lilly, we’d better let these two go to bed when they’re done eating.’

I saw Lilly’s face fall, and I reached over to sit my hand over hers.

‘We’re here all weekend,’ I said softly, and I smiled at her. ‘We have so much to catch up on. Tomorrow, we can talk all day.’

She smiled too, then she turned her hand over to grasp mine and entwined our fingers; locking us together.

‘Come on,’ James rose. ‘I’ll take your bags through to your room.’

When the lights were out, and the house was silent, Ted and I were tucked up in the bed beside each other. I turned to him and whispered,

‘She’s so intense.’

‘No wonder.’

‘I know.’

‘How you doing with it all, Bean?’

‘Good, good. I’m glad we’re here. I’m hoping tomorrow is a bit less . . .’

‘Awkward?’

‘
Awkward
. I feel bad for even
thinking
it. She’s so wonderful . . . but I feel a little shell-shocked.’

‘They seem like nice people.’

‘I have so many questions for her. I wanted to ask her even just the obvious ones tonight, but she seems too fragile.’

‘I know. But doesn’t it make you wonder . . .
God
, what has that poor woman been through?’

I was still thinking about that question long after Ted had fallen asleep.

TWENTY-FOUR

Megan—September 1973

I have always felt like life should just be
fair
. Don’t you think that everything would make so much more sense if bad things happened to bad people, and good things happened to good people – if everyone got
exactly
what they deserved?

If life worked like that, I’d never even have heard of the Orange Maternity Home. I’d have been settled at Balmain at that stage of my life, busy caring for my own children. And if life worked like that, Lilly Wyzlecki would never have even met me. If we’d met in a
just
world, I’m sure we would have been great friends – each of us with our brood of children, each of us blissfully unaware of the alternate reality where a meeting between us would change the course of our lives.

I’d been at the maternity home for less than a month when she was admitted, and I’ll never forget what she looked like that first day. Lilly was sixteen, but she seemed much younger, and even by the end of her pregnancy she never really looked pregnant. Maybe it was an optical illusion because she seemed so young, or maybe it was just a consequence of her heavier build, but even in the days before she gave birth I’d sometimes glance at her and just see a slightly overweight teenager, not a mother-to-be.

Lilly had huge brown eyes that displayed her every emotion like a projector onto a cinema screen. She could not be subtle or measured; she was just an open book. I saw the sweetness of her innocence in the early days at the home, and then I watched it dissolve by degrees. I was uncomfortable with every aspect of the home and upset for all of the other residents too, but Lilly was different from the outset. It was impossible to maintain any professional distance from her because every time I saw her, I was reminded that what was happening to her was wrong and unjust and that she in no way deserved it.

I
thought
that about all of the girls, but I
knew
it about Lilly.

No one should have the right to take the light out of someone else’s eyes, but that’s what we did to our residents. We stole the hope right out of them, and I watched the process in super-slow motion every time I made eye contact with Lilly. She was sweet and optimistic, intelligent and gentle – but then later she was confused and concerned, and later still she was devastated and terrified. And every shade of every feeling was right there on her face.

Her parents discovered her pregnancy late, and she was only with us for a few months. It was late on a Friday afternoon in early September when June Sullivan told me that they were going to induce her. Lilly seemed to have fallen into a severe depression and was refusing food most days, and June said that the doctors were concerned for the safety of the baby. They had no way of calculating an accurate due date for her, but based on the baby’s size, they were pretty sure she was only a few weeks off a natural delivery date anyway.

When June told me the induction was imminent, I didn’t realise she meant
that day.
When I got to work on Monday I was confused to hear that Lilly had been in labour for the entire weekend. I went to the delivery suite, but the midwives told me that things were very tense in the room and I shouldn’t interrupt.