The Secret Daughter (23 page)

Three minutes into the next work day I was back to planning my resignation.

After a while, it seemed that my misery wore a bit thin on him, and he started avoiding me when I came home. He’d lock himself away in the study with his paperwork and if I came in to talk, he’d wave at me and insist that he was busy and couldn’t it wait? I could see his frustration, but the situation was of his own doing, and as he slid into impatience, I was sliding into resentment.

And then, Lilly had her baby.

TWENTY-FIVE

Sabina—April 2012

When I woke the next morning, Ted was gone, and the bed beside me was cold. I slipped out of bed, used the ensuite, and dressed. There were still nervous butterflies in my stomach, but I was hopeful that over the course of the day, we’d all relax a little.

As I stepped out of the bedroom, I could smell something delicious in the air and I felt an automatic hunger pang. I walked slowly down the hallway towards the source of the scent, noticing now a long series of family photos in matching black frames. I stopped and stared at one. A much younger Lilly and James sat on awkward, fabric covered boxes against a too-blue background. Between them stood a very solidly built boy with a bowl haircut and a gappy grin, and a rake-thin little girl with spiral curls and a scowl.

I recognised Simon and Charlotte from Lilly’s email. I walked further down the hall, watching the children age in each photo, and felt a strange sense of longing. I would have been in these photos. I’d have stood between them, because I’d have been the tallest, at least until Simon’s pre-teen years. How would it have felt? Would I have scowled like Charlotte? Or would I have grinned like Simon?

More questions with no answers. But at least I was in in the Piper household, and there was a chance that some of my
other
questions might be answered that day.

‘Good morning, sleepy head,’ Ted said, when I entered the living area. He was sitting at the breakfast bar, with a plate of hot food before him. Lilly was at the stove, flipping some kind of pancake, wearing a cotton nightgown and a dressing gown. She looked exhausted, but radiantly happy. When she saw me, her entire face brightened.

‘Good morning, Sabina,’ she said through a grin. ‘Did you sleep well?’

‘Like a log.’ I stretched. ‘Whatever you’re cooking smells amazing.’

‘Potato pancakes, with bacon and eggs from a farm down the road,’ Ted told me with obvious delight. ‘Lilly is like the
world’s
greatest cook. You’ve got to taste this.’

I bit into the pancake and my eyes widened, then I pretend to push Ted off his chair to steal his plate. Lilly laughed, much harder than my joke deserved, and I saw the shining pride in her eyes.

‘It’s like a hash brown and a pancake had a baby together,’ I said.

‘They’re
placki ziemniaczane
,’ Lilly explained. ‘Potato pancakes. Another recipe from my father.’

‘Delicious!’

‘I’ll make you up a plate. James has already gone off to do a few things around the farm, he’ll be back soon and we thought we’d show you around the place. We’ll do a loop over to the Wyzlecki land – there’s a track which leads you the full length of both properties.’

We sat together at the breakfast bar, and for the next hour the three of us shared an easy, comfortable conversation about our lives. The details of a person – what job they have, or where they studied, even what they do for fun – those things don’t actually matter, once you know them. Until you know those basic facts about someone, they are a stranger, and Lilly and I needed to trade the simple data about ourselves. We marvelled at the commonalities, and belatedly celebrated each other’s milestones. Lilly was fascinated by our travels, I was impressed at her determination to achieve her degree even though the opportunity hadn’t presented itself until she was nearly thirty.

‘I was
always
going to be a history teacher,’ she told me. ‘I’d planned it since I was a little girl, I think because my father immigrated here after the second world war and he seemed so damaged by his experiences back in Poland. I was desperately curious to understand what had happened to him, but he never wanted to talk about it, so I had to do my own research. I remember being mortified by what I read and confused by why Tata wasn’t more open with his story. I understand now the mental toll those kind of experiences must have taken on him, but I think because of my curiosity as a kid, I’ve always been passionate about teaching history to children. If we don’t learn from the mistakes of the past, how can we stop them from happening again?’

‘Is there a university near here?’ Ted asked.

‘There is at Orange now, but when my kids were in primary school, there was nothing close enough for me to study face-to-face. I finished high school by correspondence, then did most of my degree that way too.’

‘And you still teach?’ I asked.

‘Oh, heavens yes. Well, I qualified as a mature-aged student, so it’s not like I’ve had a long and extensive career behind me! But still, I only teach three days a week and my plan is to keep doing that forever. Sometimes James wants me to retire and work with him here, but I think we’d end up divorced in a week if I had to go back to spending
all
of my days on this farm.’ She pulled up a stool opposite me at the breakfast bar and helped herself to some of the pancakes. ‘Besides which, I’m only fifty-four, you know. Far too young to retire, although I do only work part time so I can help Emmaline and Simon out with the twins on the other days.’

‘Of course,’ I said, and I felt stupid. ‘I keep thinking you’re older because—’ I stopped suddenly, my face flushing.

‘I look older?’ She was teasing me, and Ted laughed.

‘No, no. Just because—’ I cleared my throat. ‘Because Mum is.’

‘I was only s-sixteen when I had you,’ Lilly said, quite kindly, but then rose even though her breakfast was virtually untouched, and although her expression was calm the stutter gave her distress away. The conversation had been flowing so smoothly, and it seemed to me that even the
mention
of the adoption was a kind of stutter – an unexpected hiccup right there in the middle of the chat. I wanted to press her further, but even more than that, I desperately wanted the easy rhythm of our interaction to come back and solidify.

I changed the subject. When I spoke again, I worked very hard to keep my tone light-hearted, and I was pleased with how casual my next words sounded.

‘You don’t look fifty-four. What’s your secret?’

Lilly smiled at me.

‘It’s all about good genes. You’ve obviously inherited the same ones, I can tell just by looking at you. You brown instead of burning, you don’t get freckles and you stay that same light olive all year round, right?’

I thought of Mum’s pasty white complexion and not for the first time wondered how on earth I’d missed the fact that we were genetic strangers.

‘You’re spot on.’

‘Charlotte has James’ colouring, she fries in the sun and all she has to do is look at a glass of wine before her face flushes. But Simon and I . . . and you . . .’ she smiled, and I realised we were again talking about something deeper, ‘We’re the lucky ones.’

Lilly informed me that the best way to see a farm is from the back of a ute. This was, apparently, James’
work
vehicle
, an older style ute with a beaten-up tray. The back window was missing, which Lilly referred to as ‘air conditioning’
.

I thought she was joking about us travelling in the back, until she climbed up into the tray as if she were a playful ten-year-old.

‘Is that safe?’ I wrapped my arms around my middle, trying to remind her of my pregnancy. She gave me a confused smile.

‘Of course it is,’ she said, then reached down and offered me her hand. When I hesitated still, her smile softened. ‘We really don’t go very fast, Sabina. I promise, you’re both safe up here with me.’

I was still nervous, but I couldn’t refuse her, not with that gentle, reassuring smile and the excitement shimmering in her eyes. I reached towards her and as soon as she had my hand, she all but dragged me up with her. She sat on a toolbox that had been fixed along one side of the tray, I automatically sat opposite. Ted winked at me and climbed into the front with James.

‘Never ridden on the back of a ute before, hey?’ Lilly surmised. I shook my head, then reached behind me to awkwardly clutch at the side of the tray as the ute lurched forward.

‘Not many ute rides in the city.’

‘What was it like, growing up there? What school did you go to?’

‘I went to a private primary school, then a performing arts high school.’

‘They were good schools?’

‘They were
great
schools,’ I conceded. ‘I didn’t even know how good I had it. The school I teach at now is a lovely little independent private school but it’s got nothing on the fancy schools I went to. What about you, the school you teach at?’

‘It’s an average public high school. My kids went there too, it’s about half an hour down the road in Molong. It’s a nice school, but resources are always stretched and kids fall through the cracks. Even Charlotte very nearly did and I was teaching there by then.’

We were silent for a few moments, as the ute wound its way down a bumpy dirt road, past a series of silos and a small group of mismatched sheds. I stared at the paddocks, endless seas of tiny plants sprouting in the dirt, punctuated by the height of rows of gum trees along the fence lines. I’d have roamed this land freely, if things had worked out differently. I’d have known what it was like to ride on the back of a ute, and to smell dust in the air all of the time, and I’d be used to dirt under my fingernails and no doubt have had callouses on my palms like the ones I’d felt on Lilly’s when she’d pulled me up into the ute.

Then, James drove towards a fence, and I gasped as he drove into it. The fence flattened down so that the ute could pass straight over it. I watched the long lines of wire bounce back into place once we’d passed.

‘Magic fences?’

‘Who’s got time for gates?’ Lilly laughed.

We crossed the creek, a tiny trickle of water in a fairly deep valley. Lilly explained that when it rained heavily, which it seemed to less and less these days, the tiny creek would swell and had even been known to flood the paddocks around it. There were cattle grates on either side, bordering a single lane concrete bridge. We neared a homestead, much like the one we’d just left, with a wraparound veranda and an extensive chicken yard and veggie patch.

‘Are your siblings still around here?’ I asked Lilly quietly. ‘Other than Henri, I mean.’

‘They’re all over the place. One lives in Sydney, one in Darwin, one of my brothers is living in Poland. The rest are in Orange or Molong, and Henri and his wife Sara are here.’

‘Do you have nieces and nephews?’

‘Twenty-four of the little monsters, and most of them have spouses and kids now.’ She grimaced. ‘Family gatherings are a nightmare. We usually get together every year or so for something. I think we’ll meet up at Christmas and I’ll invite you . . . if you want to come, I mean.’

‘Of course. I’d really like that.’

‘Christmas in the Wyzlecki family is a bit of an affair. It’s Polish tradition to do the Christmas Eve thing, we get together and eat all kinds of traditional foods, and some of the family take communion. What did you do for Christmas? Was it just you and . . .’ She stopped, and the hesitation was painful to hear. ‘. . . your parents?’

‘Just the three of us, yes, but we made a fuss,’ I said softly. ‘I woke up too early, pretty much every year until I turned thirteen or fourteen. I’d get up at 1 or 2 a.m., and Dad would put me back to bed, but of course I’d be too excited to sleep so he’d have to lie in bed with me and pat me until I drifted back off to sleep. Then I’d wake up again at five or six, and there’d be
no
getting me back to sleep after that, so instead they’d have to get up with me. Once I could read, they let me hand out the presents. And there were always too many presents – Mum is pretty disciplined in just about every area of her life, except when it came to gifts for me. I’d spend all morning opening gifts and then we’d usually go to one of the grandparent’s places for lunch, then I’d spend all afternoon reorganising my room to fit in the presents.’ I was surveying the paddocks as I reminisced. When Lilly didn’t comment, I dragged my attention back to her, and saw the strange expression on her face. It wasn’t sadness, but it was something difficult, and I hesitated, unsure whether to retreat from the conversation or to press on. She had asked, after all, but it suddenly struck me how insensitive it was to rave about how wonderful my childhood had been without her.

‘It sounds marvellous,’ she said eventually. ‘And did you go on holidays?’

‘Oh, yes – pretty much every year. They dragged me all over the world. When I finished high school Mum took me to Europe, and we spent three weeks in Poland. I was only just eighteen and too spoiled to pay as much attention as I should have, but it was still wonderful.’

‘That’s . . .’ Lilly cleared her throat and stared at the floor of the ute. ‘Well, that’s just wonderful for you.’

‘She even tried to make me pierogi for a while,’ I added softly. ‘They were horrible. Yours are much better.’

I wasn’t surprised when Lilly gently re-steered the conversation.

‘Tell me about Ted, how did you two meet?’

The ute bounced along the road, looping around the homestead, and then over a ridge and down into a very long valley.

‘We met at uni. At first we just kind of had shared friends, and then as we moved into our second year, we ended up as friends ourselves. We were both seeing other people then – well, I was seeing
one
person,
Ted
was bouncing around a bunch of beautiful girls.’

Lilly laughed.

‘He’s a handsome lad.’

‘Oh, yes. And he knew it. It never occurred to me for a second that someone like Ted would have any interest in
me
. I knew he liked my company; we saw each other every few days and it was usually Ted who initiated the meetings. I just had a hard time imagining Ted settling down at all, let alone with someone as ordinary as me.’