Steal My Sunshine Part 21

*It's up to you, Sam,' said Mum. *Both your dad and I love you.'

Sam munched the biscuit, looking serious, as we stared at him, waiting for an answer. Finally he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. *I reckon we could try,' he said to Mum, his solemn face breaking into a grin as all three women got up and mauled his head until he begged for them to stop. *You've all lost it! I think a bit of man time will do me good.'

Angie made more coffees and we all talked about Essie some more. There were things I hadn't thought of, like the signs that Essie might have cancer, and the kind of care she might need if it wasn't the type they could cure.

I stared for ages at the small wooden crucifix that hung over the doorway to Angie's garden.

*What are you thinking, Hannah?' said Ange. I didn't know how to put it. I just didn't understand how such terrible things could have happened in places that were supposed to be about kindness and forgiveness and charity. Or how someone like Angie, as well as all the nuns and priests and Aunt Caro-types who had set their moral dial in a way that caused such pain to others, could all think they were connected by the same faith.

*How can you be part of it?' I said.

*I've asked myself that a hundred times, Hannah. It went on all over the world, for too long, and hurt a lot of people. But that's not what I believe in. It's got nothing to do with me and my faith.'

I blushed, knowing my anger was misplaced. *I know, Angie,' I said. *I'm sorry. I just don't know how to stop feeling this way.'

A month later, Dad came to pick up Sam. They'd found an apartment in St Kilda, and I was jealous, in a way, that they'd be down there by the beach. I wondered a few times if this plan was such a good idea after all. That my life might be easier with Dad instead of Mum.

*I'll pick you up later,' said Dad, as he hauled out the last of Sam's boxes.

*What for?'

*It's movie night. You haven't forgotten, have you?'

I shook my head and hugged him. Sam gently punched me on the arm and got into the car. Watching them pull away, I felt a pocket of emptiness inside, but I had to believe this would all be for the best.

Mum gave her room to Essie. We put her chair right by the window so she could look out at the street. She had a TV and her old Roberts radio in navy-blue leather that she said worked better than my iPod any day of the week.

That first night we were so polite a" it was like being in a play and not knowing your lines, or any of the other cast members. Essie sat at one end of the table for dinner, while Mum was at the other end and I was in the middle, wondering if I'd just made the biggest mistake of our lives.

Essie looked suspiciously at the food Mum had made. I tried to motion for her to pick up her cutlery but she picked up her drink instead.

*I'll just have some toast, Hannah.'

Mum looked crushed. She'd spent hours on it.

*Just try it, Essie,' I said, coaxing her. I reached over and squeezed her arm. *It's really good.'

There was so much behind Essie's eyes I didn't know where to begin when it came to understanding her, but then she looked at Mum and picked up her fork. *It's not that I don't appreciate it, Sara,' she said.

I braced myself for what Mum might say. *Pa.s.s the salad.' She winked at me so I knew we were in this together.

Almost in silence, the three of us got through the first meal. It was awkward but, unlike all the other times, there wasn't any hate in the room. In its place was a slow-burning sense of the past being the past.

For the rest of the evening Mum hugged me every time Essie wasn't looking. She was doing that a lot more anyway.

As the days went on, it wasn't easy. I could never have imagined what it would be like to watch someone die. Essie was sicker than we'd thought, and after only a few weeks she couldn't even get out of bed. She stopped wearing make-up and kept her hair swept right back from her face. Mum had to wash her; she ate even less. Angie came often, bringing her positive energy every time in a way that became like a drug to us. And Essie had a stack of real drugs, too, to make her feel more comfortable, but she always looked like she was in pain.

Sometimes I'd remember a detail that was missing from her story. Why had the letter from her friend in London said *poor James'? What had happened to him? Sometimes the question was on my lips when Essie was having a better day, but I'd always think better of it.

After a while it seemed as if she'd been in that bed forever. For days at a time, I'd forget what she used to be like; how I'd been afraid of Essie and mystified by her for most of my life. The painting of her in our hallway became so familiar that I'd forget to look at it. It simply belonged there, like Essie. Visits to her room felt slow and difficult, but at the same time, the cancer was taking her so quickly. I almost couldn't believe that cancer could get someone like Essie.

Mum was out with Angie one night when Essie called out. I walked round the foot of the bed and into the gap between Essie and the window that gave a view of the street. She opened her eyes.

*You came,' she breathed.

*Of course,' I said. But then she closed her eyes again. *Essie? Are you okay?'

*Yes. It's me, yes,' she said, forcing her eyes open again. *I thought they'd taken you away.'

*No one's taken me, Essie.' By now I was used to her saying things that didn't make sense.

*I saw you. From the window.' She paused and coughed. She closed her eyes for a second longer, before she said, *I saw them take you, Jo. In the van. I wanted to help but I couldn't. I'm so sorry. I'll never forgive myself.'

She cried as I stroked her hand.

*It wasn't your fault, Essie. I'm okay. Go to sleep now. Everything's going to be fine.'

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 c.r.a.ppy one line. Sorry.'

*Sorry for what?' he'd said.

*Saying c.r.a.ppy.'

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 were indifferent. 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 s.p.a.ce 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 s.h.i.t how things turned out. But Evan wanted me to tell you that it wasn't me who 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. Sometimes.'

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 pa.s.sed 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 a" 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 a" 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 pre-set b.u.t.ton 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 her but it was even sharper than I'd imagined. It came back at all sorts of unexpected moments. She was the sort of person who would leave a ma.s.sive hole in your life, no matter how you felt about 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 doc.u.ments 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 a" the family who gave Connie back to the retreat a" 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 a" 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.

Note for advanced reading copies: Teachers' Resources for this book will be available online closer to the publication date of 1 May 2013. Please check the website for availability, or email to request the file and we will send it as soon as it is available.

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