‘But why give it to you now?’ I ask. ‘She’s in jail, no one is going to give her a baby now. Surely she doesn’t want the baby taken away from me and given to a stranger.’
Wally keeps his gaze firmly away from mine, but he stiffens slightly. I’ve become more in tune with his non-verbal communication these past weeks. Perhaps just sharing space with someone does that.
‘Why?’ I ask. ‘Why would she want to hurt me like that?’
Detective Brookes smiles ever so slightly. There’s a sad edge to it.
‘I don’t know,’ she admits. ‘But I have a feeling it’s a sister thing.’
Wally and I lie on the bed, side by side, staring up at the ceiling. Willow’s bassinet is in the corner, but she is snuggled into Wally’s chest – her favourite place to be. The flat is quiet and calm, but still my head is spinning. On the way home from the police station, Wally spoke to a lawyer to ask advice on the Billy situation. The lawyer advised that it would be highly unlikely for Rose’s testimony to reopen enquiries into Billy’s death nearly twenty years after the fact, particularly with no witnesses to corroborate her story. At this point, everyone seems to have accepted that Billy had drowned by accident and that was the end of the story. It seemed the other part of the story would remain forever buried.
Wally turns his head to face me and his glasses slide down his nose. ‘So your mother really never did those things in Rose’s diary?’
‘No.’ I think about that. ‘I mean . . . there were moments of truth in there . . . but they weren’t to do with Mum. It’s as if Rose just unearthed all our memories and recast them so she was the victim. Mum never broke our things or left us overnight or locked Rose in her room.’
‘They were all lies,’ Wally says.
‘Yes,’ I say. Then I hesitate. ‘Or maybe it’s the way Rose thinks things happened? I know that when we have recollected things together, her versions are always a little bit different to mine. Bigger, more dramatic. And she always adds things she couldn’t possibly know, like why people did what they did. But the way she tells them, it feels like she believes it is true.’ I pause.
‘What is it?’ Wally asks.
‘There was another part of the diary that I wondered about. About one of Mum’s boyfriends. Gary. She said he did something to her in the swimming pool. I think that part might be true.’
Wally frowns. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Because he tried something similar with me.’
Wally rises up onto an elbow, balancing Willow between his chest and other arm. ‘Your mum’s boyfriend–’
I hold up a hand. ‘He didn’t hurt me. I gave him a knee to the groin and he didn’t try it again. It never occurred to me that he might try it on Rose. I should have looked out for her better. I hate the idea of something bad happening to Rose. Even now, I hate it.’
‘Unfortunately, that sentiment isn’t reciprocated,’ Wally says. ‘If it were, Rose wouldn’t have falsified a diary intended to keep Willow from you.’ He stands up and carries Willow over to the bassinet.
‘The part I don’t understand is why she lied about what happened the night Billy died. She didn’t need to lie about that. I did drown Billy! Why did she need to say that she wasn’t there when he died?’
Wally frowns. ‘That is weird.’ He puts Willow down. Standing upright again, he becomes very still. ‘You said it was Rose’s idea to hold him under,’ he says slowly. ‘And she kept time while you held Billy down?’
‘Yes.’
‘And didn’t you say if felt like a long time? Maybe it was a long time?’
It takes me a minute to understand where Wally is leading me. Rose told me to hold Billy down. She told me how long to hold him. And then she made up a story saying she wasn’t there.
‘It makes sense. Why else would she need to make up a story about it?’ Wally says.
‘No,’ I say. ‘I don’t think Rose would do that.’
‘I’m sorry, Fern,’ Wally says. ‘But I think she would.’
It takes me a minute to realise the ramifications of this. ‘So I didn’t kill Billy?’
Wally shakes his head. ‘I don’t think you did.’
Before I know it, tears are streaming down my cheeks. ‘If this is true, Wally . . . it means I can be trusted with my baby! Doesn’t it?’
‘Yes, Fern.’ Wally wipes a tear from my cheek. ‘It does.’
I let out a sob. Wally comes to my side and I allow him to hold me for the longest time. It doesn’t even bother me the tiniest bit.
I can be trusted with my baby, I tell myself. I can be trusted with my baby!
I understand it’s true. It’s just that, after all these years, it’s going to take me a little longer to believe it.
Three months later . . .
I sit on the floor with my legs crossed and Willow in my lap. Linda stands in front of me wearing a pair of giant white underpants over the top of her clothes, and a bright red cape – Captain Underpants. She zooms around the room, her cape flapping behind her.
We’re at Baby Rhyme Time. Sixteen mothers sit on the floor cross-legged with their babies balanced in their laps. An additional four mothers sit on chairs at the back, breastfeeding or pushing their strollers vigorously, trying to get their babies to settle. Wally sits on the floor beside me, watching Linda curiously.
‘Tra-la-LAAAAA,’ Linda cries, taking off across the room again.
I have to lip-read because I’m wearing my noise-cancelling headphones. They’re big ones – the ones that look like earmuffs – and I’m wearing them over the straps of my black-tinted goggles. Wally is also wearing headphones and goggles,
