Together, they watched the cartoon heroes on their talking horses save the town from an earthquake. The bright TV and the flashing animations hurt Eliza’s eyes. The doctor had said this might happen – the effects of her concussion. If the symptoms grew worse, she was supposed to go back in for observation, but there was no way that was going to happen. She would stay right here, with her family. She closed her eyes and enjoyed their presence.
After a while, Tom joined them, carrying four plates of cut ham-and-lettuce sandwiches. ‘Wren, we need to put the news on, sweetheart,’ he began, seeing the cartoon credits on the screen.
‘Not yet,’ said Eliza, before Wren could even protest. ‘Can we watch another episode?’
Tom snuggled in behind Wren, holding her in his lap and coaxing her to eat her sandwich. Eliza felt his leg pressing hard against hers.
Sarge snuffled, woke up, yawned, and climbed down, heading for his doggy-door into the backyard.
Eliza listened blissfully as the Piebald Rangers successfully navigated the conflicts of friendship, and then another episode was over. Without another word – just a glance in Eliza’s direction – Tom let the next episode auto-play. The four of them finished their meal and sat, silent, watching the Piebald Rangers yet again save the town. Eliza’s mind was far, far away.
The doorbell rang and Sarge came sprinting through from outside, straight to the door.
‘It’s alright, it’s just Tom’s mum,’ said Monica. ‘I asked her to come take Wren for a while . . . if the police are coming, I . . .’ She broke off into sniffles.
‘No, no, get down, you stupid mongrel,’ came the voice of Mrs North in the hallway. ‘Good boy.’ She bustled into the lounge room. ‘Eliza, you poor thing!’
Eliza rose and let Tom’s mum hug her.
‘How are you? Are you okay? How dreadful. Anything you need. Anything at all.’
Wren, not understanding the sudden emotion, began crying. Mrs North quickly scooped the girl up into her arms. ‘Don’t you worry, baby. It’s fine. You’re okay. Quick, say goodbye to Mummy and Daddy and Aunt Leesey.’ Mrs North let them all kiss Wren, before she took the screaming girl away.
‘Can I . . .?’ said Monica, teary, reaching for the remote.
Eliza nodded.
Immediately footage of Cierra, Jasmine and Georgia filled the screen. It was from the morning of the hike, on the school bus. It must have been footage from Madison’s YouTube channel. No Bree. She wasn’t in the girls’ self-dubbed ‘Fab Four’.
Eliza watched the footage, wiping her tears away, annoyed. Jasmine, slight but so fierce. Cierra, looking nervous in her blue wig. Georgia and her intelligent eyes.
Tom made them each a whisky and Coke, pressing one into each woman’s hands. He settled in between them again, pulling them both tight. Eliza pulled away. Sarge tried to climb up, but Tom pointed towards the door and said, ‘Outside.’ The dog obeyed, tail wagging feebly.
Tom looked back to the TV.
They watched footage of the search efforts, the reporters under umbrellas informing the viewers it was now over twenty-four hours since the girls first went missing. The broadcast changed to aerial shots of the Tiers, zooming in on the cliffs and the impenetrable summits.
Tom muted the TV. ‘If anyone’s to blame, it’s me,’ he said. ‘I should’ve been back there with them.’
‘Neither of you is to blame,’ said Monica. ‘Don’t be stupid . . .’
‘But if I had been back there . . .’ began Tom. He breathed heavily, staring at Eliza, putting his hand on her thigh.
Even now? He was insatiable. He’d never made a secret of his attraction to Eliza, not even in front of Monica, admitting that the idea of twins excited him. She couldn’t believe that he would try to make a move right now, with all that was going on, and after she had rejected his forthright advances so many times. She supposed maybe the trauma was messing with him just like it was messing with her.
She stood up and excused herself. Monica sent her a look of sympathy, but Eliza couldn’t look at her in that moment – she went to the bathroom and locked the door. Monica had no right to show pity. Eliza loved her, would always love her, but she had to take responsibility eventually. When Tom had expressed a desire to sleep with her, not that long after Wren was born, Monica had given him permission: she always let Tom have what he wanted.
When Eliza had refused him, he was disappointed, but took it in his stride. It wasn’t long before he turned his eyes to the older girls at school. He was not so confident that he flirted with them right in front of Eliza, but it was clear enough what was going on. She knew she should intervene – she understood that it was the right thing to do, and her obligation as a teacher – but she was too protective of Monica, of Wren. She didn’t feel good about it, but it was a moral compromise. Staying silent was selfish, but she had experienced the suffering a broken family could cause and, for Wren’s sake, she could not bring herself to do anything that might jeopardise Tom’s job or reputation.
Of course, Tom paid particular attention to girls who returned his interest. As Denni had.
Locked in Monica’s bathroom, her mind was back there, now. That first day, the winter of two years ago. Their oldest sister, Kiera, had shown up at Eliza’s house in one of her rare moments of sobriety. She’d had Denni in tow and begged Eliza to take care of her daughter. Kiera loved Denni, but she knew she was a bad mother to her – it was because she loved her that she wanted Eliza to raise her. Denni had stomped past Eliza and into the spare room, which in time would become her room, swearing and screaming at Kiera.
Eliza couldn’t refuse. Poor Kiera had suffered the most from their parents’ neglect and abuse. She was a bad mother. And Eliza . . . to be a mother was all she’d ever wanted.
She spent the time with Denni. Slowly, gently, calming her. Comforting her. Listening to her, validating her, giving her permission to be strong, to be kind, to be present. Eliza read all the books, wanting to learn all the ways a daughter should be treated in order to grow up strong. Something that Eliza and Monica and Kiera’s parents had never been able to do. But Eliza and Monica had always had each other, while Kiera had borne the full brunt.
Kiera. Now she was somewhere on the mainland, shacked up with a drug dealer, numb and oblivious to the world outside her own addiction, trying to bury the pain of her daughter’s suicide. It’d been months since Eliza had heard from her, although that wasn’t unusual. She and Monica had both resigned themselves to the fact it was only a matter of time before they got a call, from the cops or a hospital, saying Kiera was dead.
But back in the memory, months after Denni’s arrival, the edgy and rebellious but only half-healed teenager had begun reeling in Tom. Little comments and touches and looks full of meaning. And Tom, horny and hungry as always, had responded.
Eliza had tried everything to make Denni stop, to make Tom stop, but nothing had worked – reasoning, threatening to report Tom to the school, bribing Denni with gifts. Once she’d given her the ultimatum that, if they didn’t stop, Eliza would move the two of them to another town entirely. That hadn’t worked – Denni just said she’d move in with Tom and Monica instead.
Monica . . . sweet, infatuated Monica, with all of her own childhood trauma and fear of abandonment, had never stood up to Tom. Even now, Eliza could hardly bring herself to look at him, even though they shared a house. He was big, strong – scary when angry. He was a man’s man, in a man’s world, in a country town where men were still the ruling class.