Authors: Cate Kendall
Sera took a deep breath, trying not to panic. 'Bella, you run
down to Macquarie Street,' she ordered. 'Maddy, stay at the
picnic and watch the lake. I'm going to the public toilets.'
Sera raced to the public toilets. She burst into the men's,
startling a businessman who was just zipping up. 'Harry, are
you in here?' she called. She ran to the ladies' but found
no sign of him.
Outside the toilets she whirled around, looking in every
direction. A mounted policeman was in the distance. She
called out and ran down to the horse and officer.
'My little boy,' she blurted out breathlessly, 'he's only
three. Have you seen him?'
'Hair colour?' The police officer cut directly to the facts.
'Dark brown,' she replied. This felt sickeningly surreal.
'Last seen wearing?'
'Red shirt and blue and white striped pants, no, white
jeans . . . oh God,' she said, crumbling with fear for her
little boy.
The policeman radioed in the information and told Sera
to stay put as he headed off at a trot.
Sera raced back to the picnic to see if there was any
news, but she could tell from Bella and Maddy's faces that
Harry hadn't been found.
'Maddy darling, think!' she begged her daughter. 'When
did you last see Harry?'
'Well, we were drawing pictures,' Maddy started.
'Yes, go on,' Sera prompted desperately.
'And then he saw a duck and told me to look at it, and
I said I couldn't cos I was too busy.'
'Then what?'
'That's it,' Maddy shrugged her shoulders.
'I bet he's followed the duck. Maddy, stay with Bella.'
Sera rushed off towards the lake, panic thrumming in her
ears. She scanned the calm water. No ducks. Sera willed
herself to sense Harry's location; to tap into some maternal
psychic connection. Nothing.
The last thing she'd said to her son was that she was
going to kill him. Her hand flew to her mouth to stop
herself from vomiting. What if he was . . . she stopped
helplessly on the pathway and looked around, wildly. He'd
now been missing over twenty minutes. That was just too
long. Bella and Maddy were questioning passers-by.
Where were the ducks? She looked down the hill. The
mounted police officer had been joined by another and
they were in conversation, gesturing back at Sera. Where
was that gardener from earlier? If anyone knew where the
bloody ducks were, it would be him.
Suddenly she caught sight of the gardener, digging up
a dahlia bed.
'The ducks, where are the ducks?!' she screeched,
bolting towards him. She forced herself to draw a breath.
'My three year old is missing. He was last seen following
the ducks.'
'I just saw a family of ducks,' he said. He spoke slowly
and clearly in a voice he obviously reserved for the slightly
touched or maternally panicked. 'They're under the
Moreton Bay Fig, over there, ' he said, pointing.
'Thank you,' she cried, hope flooding her mind as she
fled down the massive lawn towards the fig tree.
She could see the waddling ducks, but no Harry. She
ran closer, her leggings riding up but she barely cared.
'Harry?!' The cry came out as a muffled sob. She tried
again. 'Harry!' She stopped running and listened. The
ducks stopped moving and looked. He had to be here.
There was nowhere else to look after this.
Then she saw a little foot protruding from behind
the tree's enormous root. It was followed by a shoulder
and then by a face that broke into a smile. 'Mum, look,
ducks.'
Sera's knees failed. She dropped. Her face fell into her
hands. When she looked up her little guy was toddling
towards her with a pinecone in his outstretched hand and
a worried look on his face. 'Don't cry, Mummy, you're
a beautiful mummy.' She embraced him and burst into
body-racking sobs.
*
As she waited with Maddy near the picnic, Bella wasn't
panicked. She knew kids; on the farm the boys would
roam for hours without anybody worrying them. She was
sure Harry would be found soon. But as the minutes ticked
past, she began to grow a little more concerned. Honestly,
who'd have children? They were such hard work. Sera
was more snappy and tense than ever, the adults never
got to complete a sentence and now this ridiculous mad
panic. Thank goodness she'd never had any, she thought
smugly.
Finally Sera reappeared with Harry in her arms, the
relief on her face obvious. Unexpectedly, Bella felt tears
in her eyes. This was a picture of motherhood that she
had never known. All the years she had spent corralling,
chasing, yelling, feeding and cleaning her siblings hadn't
been motherhood at all. That had simply been work,
thankless work with little reward or emotion. She could see
that this was different, and she was shocked.
Maddy started to wail. 'What is it, darling?' asked Bella.
'Harry's fine, see?'
'No, look,' the little girl sobbed. In her hand lay the
precious Swarovski swan with one very broken neck.
Sam was looking for a man; any man. Since he'd been
widowed, school pick-up had become a scary plunge into a
tangled jungle of female desire and unwanted attention.
If he could just spot another dad in the playground he'd
be fine; but on his own he was easy prey for many of the
school's single women.
He scanned the milling parents as he headed toward
the school: not a Y chromosome in sight. He sighed, his
thoughts drifting to his date tonight with the bikini model.
What the hell had he been thinking? He wasn't the sort of
bloke who dated models, for chrissakes. Come to think
of it, he wasn't the sort of bloke who dated at all.
What was he supposed to talk about with this woman?
Did women like her want to be complimented, or was
that cheesy? He still hadn't decided where to take her; he
didn't want to come across as too contrived. But, on the
other hand, without a plan it might look like he didn't care.
What did they like to do? What did they like to eat? What
do women want? He laughed at himself. If he knew that,
he'd be a millionaire.
He wandered through the school gates, all thoughts of
the impending date leaving his mind. He needed to keep
his wits about him here. Last week he'd received three
meaningful smiles and one phone number before he got to
the school door.
He called them the Seekers. The divorced women desperately
looking for a partner; someone to ease the burdens
of child-rearing; to help with the mortgage and fulfill what
appeared to Sam to be quite insatiable needs – if the way
they casually pressed their bodies against him in the crush
of the playground was anything to go by. He couldn't
remember women being quite so forward back when he
was single all those years ago – and it scared the hell out
of him.
There was one particularly determined mother, Muriel,
who had been stalking him since the day after he had
buried his wife. She had the stealth (and the dress sense)
of a leopard, the personality (and laugh) of a kestrel and all
the subtlety of a rubbish-foraging raccoon. She made him
terribly nervous. In their first playground conversation she
had jumped from asking how old his kids were to why
he wasn't wearing a wedding ring with a startling lack of
segue.
He excused his way past the sea of gigantic handbags
attached to teeny, tanned women to position himself away
from the crush of the group, but with a view of the school
door. He hadn't seen Muriel yet so he allowed himself a
tentative sigh of relief.
'Hiya handsome.' Curved talons snaked around his left
bicep. God, he'd be crap as a gazelle.
'Muriel,' he exclaimed and took a step back from her
cleavage before he tumbled into the chasm.
'So how's it going, Sammy, sweetie, you poor man?'
Muriel purred, affecting what she hoped was an endearing,
yet sympathetic, pout.
'No, no, all good, we're great, fine, no problem.' Sam
knew he was stammering but was overcome with a primal
need for flight. He looked nervously around the playground
for an escape path, but he could only see another
group standing nearby sizing him up as if deciding which
vegetables would go nicely with Coq au Sam.
'It's so difficult, isn't it,' she sighed dramatically. 'The
meat market is so tough, believe me, I know.'
I bet you do, Sam thought. He saw another dad, Dave,
coming in the gate. He used all his willpower to reach
Dave's mind and get him over, but as a professional athlete,
Dave had very little in the mind department, and was probably
using it all up just for walking. Usually Sam found
Dave's constant sporting commentary to be very draining,
but he'd happily endure the Wallabies' latest game blow-by-
blow if only Dave would come and save him.
'I think it would be lovely to just find someone to be
friends with, you know.' Muriel looked up at him, batted
her falsies and grinned. 'Friends with perks. You know
what I mean, no strings.'
'Yeah, sounds like a plan,' he muttered, not really listening
as he madly flicked his eyes over to Dave who finally
registered, put a great plank of an arm in the air in greeting
and started pushing through the forest of handbags.
'Really?' Muriel squeaked, alerting Sam to further
danger. What had he said?
'Er, yeah, for you I mean, whatever you need, I'm
sure it's a good plan, for you that is, I mean . . . DAVE,
MATE!
Great
to see you.' He put his hand out for a
handshake that was well worth every metacarpal-crushing
moment.
'Sam, Sam, old buddy boy!' Dave punched Sam on the
deltoid – a blow that he was pleased not to be knocked
sideways by. 'How are those piss-weak All Blacks, dude?
We got 'em big time, didn't we?'
'Yeah, Dave, that was something else all right.'
Muriel dropped back into the female jungle with a disappointed
sigh.
The bell finally rang and Isabelle came running out into
Sam's arms. 'Come on, sweetie,' he said, 'let's get out of
here and pick up your sister.'
Bella's luxurious flat boasted sweeping harbour views that
compensated for its fourth-floor position in a very ordinary
Darling Point 1980s high-rise. Rushcutters Bay Park,
the Cruising Yacht Club, Sydney's impressive skyline,
the Opera House, the Harbour Bridge and the boat-filled
waters of Point Piper and Double Bay were laid out below
her tiny balcony.
Bella's main criterion in searching for her first piece of
Sydney real estate was finding a magnificent view, and her
persistence had paid off. She had quickly set about indulging
her love for Versace in designing the flat's interior.
Although she and Sera had spent their teens and twenties
idolising the gilt and glamour of Versace fashions, which
seemed the antithesis of everything their drab childhoods
had been, they soon matured into the lure of new
designers.
Brands such as Ralph Lauren, DKNY and Lisa Ho
became their labels of choice in their late twenties; and
while in her late thirties Sera still enjoyed a gaudy touch in
some of her fashion, Bella had toned her own look down
to sophisticated Armani as she moved toward her fourth
decade.
Except at home. Bella opened her front door and smiled
as she surveyed the two-bedroom flat that was her Versace
castle.
The living room walls were awash in navy flock
embossed with gold fleur de lys. A royal blue studded
couch stood centre stage scattered with gold Medusa-head
tassled cusions. Persian rugs in jewelled tones led towards
her bedroom. The queen-size bed was engulfed in the burgundy
and hot pink of a faux mink throw, brocade canopy
and velvet headboard.
Bella took off her pumps and after carefully brushing
them, stored them in the first of her ten cupboards; the
court shoe section.
She slid out her hairpins, placing them one by one in
her hairpin holder, then threw her head upside down and
scratched her head, wildly tousling her usually constrained
locks. But before she could indulge in the freedom of
unkempt hair she quickly swept it into a casual ponytail
and checked it four times for lumps. Then she folded her
clothes into their allocated storage spaces and dragged on
track pants and her favourite worn flannelette shirt.
Suddenly she was filled with an overwhelming urge to
check that the front door was locked. She had checked it
when she'd come home (twice) and knew logically that it
was locked. She took a deep breath, counted to ten, and
the urge passed. She quietly congratulated herself on her
strength.
She opened her MacBook Air and stared out at the city
lights while her emails downloaded. She would usually
have called Sera by now, perhaps arranged for a coffee in
the morning. But she just didn't feel like it. She felt terrible
about losing her temper with her little sister in the Botanic
Gardens; it wasn't like her to snap like that.
After all, it wasn't Sera's fault that Bella had grown
weary of always being the listener. Sera was just doing what
she had always done; dumping all her problems on her
sister and expecting her to fix things for her.
But Bella had just had enough. She was worn out. The
failure of her marriage had been a painful shock that had
seriously battered her self-esteem. The sense of loss was
overwhelming – not just of Curtis – but of the ideal of a
happy marriage that she'd strived so hard to achieve. So
hard, in fact, that she'd been able to deny the truth of their
relationship for years.
She had few real friends. Curtis had discouraged her
inviting guests around, so she had isolated herself and concentrated
on him for the past few years. Now she was alone.
She'd worked long hours since the end of the marriage,
simply to distract herself and to avoid the sheer loneliness
of sitting in the quiet flat. Even thinking about making
the effort to reconnect with her old friends made her feel
exhausted; and she didn't think she could face the humiliation
of explaining her situation.
She turned to her laptop and scanned her emails. She
saw there was one from Sera.
'Dear Bella, I'm a stupid, selfish cow. How can you
ever forgive me? You've always been there for me and I
didn't even notice you were suffering. Please call me when
you're in Sydney so we can have a proper catch-up sans
kids. Love Sera.'
Bella smiled and picked up the phone.
*
'Two hundred and four, two hundred and five . . .'
'Darling, how are you?' Sera was effusive as she swept
into the Four in Hand bar.
Bella was pleased to see her sister, but anxious that she
hadn't managed to finish counting the whole row of white
tiles at her feet before she'd arrived. She shook the agitation
from her head and stepped down from her stool at the bar
to give Sera a hug.
'You look wonderful,' Sera enthused, determined to
heal the rift between them.
'So do you,' Bella replied less convincingly as she took
in Sera's orange face and garish eye make-up.
'That was a rotten catch-up on the weekend, I'm so
sorry,' Sera started once she they had settled back at the bar
and ordered Tanqueray and Tonics.
'Don't be silly. I'm the one who should be sorry, I
should know when to shut up,' Bella said.
'Well, let's not dwell on it, it's behind us now. The
important thing at the moment is you. What's happened
with Curtis?'
Bella's mouth felt as if were full of cotton wool. She
couldn't verbalise it, she just couldn't admit she'd failed.
She checked her white T-shirt, it was immaculate, she
looked at her nails; her watch; her shoes.
Sera grabbed Bella's hands to stop their compulsive fiddling.
'Stop it, darling, you're so twitchy. It's just me, you
can trust me, I won't judge, I'm just here to listen.'
Sera's soothing words worked. Bella told her everything;
the betrayals; the two-timing; the constant criticism
that coloured her marriage. The sense that no matter how
hard she tried she couldn't get Curtis' approval; could
never be enough for him. Sera shook her head in shock and
sadness. Her poor Bella.
Bella had believed his criticism; had swallowed his rejection
and tried to fight harder to be better at everything just
so that he might love her again. 'I really thought that if I
could just be less of a failure; if I could be a better, happier,
more beautiful woman, he'd want me again. Now I guess I
can see that he was just projecting his own shortcomings on
to me; that he needed me to be the cause of his discontent
because it meant he didn't have to take any responsibility
for his own issues.
'It's taken time and therapy, Sera, but I am starting to
come out of the shadows of that relationship bit by bit, and
do you know what?' Bella faced her sister with determined
eyes. 'I will never, ever let anyone treat me that way again.
I will never depend on someone so fully for my own self-esteem
again.' Tears ran down her face and she whipped
them away savagely.
Sera's heart ached to see her sister in such pain. 'I'm so
sorry I wasn't there for you, Bella,' she whispered.
'I wasn't there for myself,' Bella sighed. 'I stayed with
him for twenty years – and for what? Now here I am –
single, no babies, no friends left, and a back-breaking career
to keep up.
'And now he's getting married.' Her tears turned to sobs
and Sera put her arm around her sister's shoulders as grief
stormed through her.
'You don't still have feelings for him do you?' Sera
asked with trepidation.
'I don't know, at first I thought I did, but I worked
it through in therapy. It's more just the overwhelming
enormity of the wasted years I can't shake.'
'Oh, thank God for that,' Sera said, relieved. 'In a way
it's good that he's getting married, it's the ultimate closure
for you, now you can move on.'
The waiter returned with more drinks and the sisters
continued to talk long into the night. By the time Bella
returned to her apartment she was exhausted but relieved.
The evening had been cathartic; Sera had been a wonderful
support. It was just what she'd needed.