‘She’s not well, Fernie. You can’t give her your baby.’
‘I know.’
We sit for a moment in silence. I realise I have a lump in my throat. Owen’s face is more sombre than I’ve ever seen it. He reaches forward and puts his hand on mine. It’s warm and strong. It’s not just bearable. It actually feels good.
‘Thank you for coming to see me,’ I say.
He shrugs. ‘I wish I could do more.’
I smile, even though I’m sad – and for the first time, I understand why people do that.
‘I wish you could too,’ I say.
Twenty minutes after Owen leaves, Detective Brookes comes to the door.
‘May I come in?’
If she’s come to arrest me for kidnapping Willow, she won’t have to ask any such permissions soon. In jail, I imagine the police can come and go as they please. They won’t ask if I feel like stew or spaghetti for dinner, they’ll just hand me a meal. It’s possible, I realise, that I won’t go to jail. I might go to one of those places for the mentally impaired – One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest-style. Apparently, those places aren’t as bad as they once were. I read an article about it recently. Electroshock therapy is only used sparingly, and the facilities are geared toward rehabilitation. Still, I doubt babies are allowed to visit. That’s the most frightening part of this – not jail, or a disruption to my routine, not the smells or lights or alarms – it’s the fact that I might not see Willow again for a long, long time.
I wrap my arms around myself.
‘Fern?’ Detective Brookes says. ‘Are you all right?’
I shake my head and start to rock. There is another police officer with Detective Brookes now, this one in uniform. He remains at the doorway, while Detective Brookes slowly enters the room.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just need to have a word to you about something.’
‘The kidnapping?’
‘Fern, Willow is your daughter. I cannot arrest you for taking her to the library.’
I frown. ‘You can’t?’
‘No.’
I am perplexed. ‘Then . . . why did the police come after me? Why did they take Willow?’
‘My understanding is that your sister called to report you and your baby’s sudden departure from the hospital. This would have prompted a welfare check from the police. As you were distressed when they found you, a request for psych assessment would have been made, and I’m not privy to those. But there is no suggestion that you kidnapped your daughter, Fern.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
I take a minute to process this.
‘Then . . . why are you here?’ I ask.
Detective Brookes takes a seat by the bed. ‘It’s to do with your mother.’
‘My mother? What about her?’
‘We have the autopsy report. It shows two hypodermic injection sites just under your mother’s hairline. This indicates foul play.’
‘Foul play?’
‘It indicates someone may have poisoned your mother. But there were no traces of poison in your mother’s blood.’
‘That’s strange.’
‘Yes, it had us a little baffled too until you mentioned your sister was a diabetic. You see, one trend we’ve started seeing a bit of in nursing homes is insulin overdosing. It’s popular because in general insulin degrades quickly in a body. With your sister being a diabetic, she would obviously have access to insulin and be experienced in giving injections. In addition to this, we found a bracelet, identical to yours but with a rose on it, in your mother’s room. And given the fact that their relationship was troubled, and your mother was trying to convince you not to give her your baby . . . that’s a motive.’
I blink. ‘You think Rose murdered Mum?’
She shrugs. ‘I’d say it’s not looking good for her.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t believe it.’
But maybe I do believe it. I think about the way Rose felt about Mum. Even the mention of her name was enough to infuriate her. And Rose had done so many things that I’d never thought she would do. Go behind my back with Wally. Lie about Owen. Accuse me of being dangerous. Take my baby from me.
‘It’s a lot of compelling evidence. Enough to rule your mother’s death a murder. And enough that your sister is the prime suspect.’
I stare at her. I’m about to ask where Rose is, but halfway through I realise it’s the wrong question. I have a new priority now. A more important question.
‘Willow,’ I say. ‘Where is Willow?’
I lie on my hospital bed and stare at the closed door. It’s all too much to take in.
Detective Brookes told me that Rose will be formally charged and then most likely remanded in custody until trial. The idea makes me nervous. Rose won’t be happy about any of that.
On her way out, Detective Brookes told me that she would find Willow, but that was twenty minutes ago, and I’ve heard nothing since. She told me to stay in my room, so they can find me easily, but it is torture. I’m not in any trouble for taking Willow, Detective Brookes stressed. She is my baby; I’m free to take her anywhere I want. I like the sound of that, even if I’m not sure I trust it.
Finally, there is a knock at the door. I lurch upright as the door opens. It’s not Willow.
‘Wally?’
He pushes his glasses up his nose and smiles. He’s dressed in the first outfit I ever saw him in – jeans, the flannelette shirt, the bobble hat.
‘How did you find me?’ I ask as he comes in. He closes the door behind him and takes a seat beside my bed.
‘Carmel called me, eventually. She said you would be here. I’d been back to maternity but you weren’t there and no-one would give me any information. It’s taken me hours to find you.’
I take a minute to marvel at this. Wally,
