10

The day has become gloomy since Edith went to the club. She slides one hand in her pocket, the other grasps the collar of her coat to keep her thin neck warm. She contemplates her loss, contemplates the fact that she spent more money than she planned. The thought of it sends the pit of her stomach into a queasy spasm. She sighs then breathes icy air in through her nostrils.

‘It’s only money,’ she says aloud. But her words mean nothing. One hundred dollars is too much to lose. It wasn’t even hers to spend. She’d borrowed it from the money she’d put aside for the gas bill. If she is not careful she will have to borrow some more money from Cashies, or worse visit The Welfare for food. Edith shudders at the thought.

She wishes Mary had been there with her. She would have put it into perspective in her quiet way. In fact, if Mary had been there Edith wouldn’t have spent so much. They would have sat down and had a big warm dinner in the dining room and the afternoon would have whittled away pleasantly. But now that Jack has retired, she hardly sees Mary. She’s either busy with Jack or she’s working at the community centre. Edith would have done the same, she supposes, with George when he retired if things hadn’t turned out the way they did. If only George were here. He was good with money, he—

‘Have you seen my sister Skye?’

‘What?’ Edith is startled to see a half-dressed boy with no shoes. What on earth is he doing out in the freezing cold dressed like that? He must be frozen to the bone.

‘Skye. My sister. Have you seen her? She’s wearing a pink dressing gown and a fairy nightie.’

Edith rubs her brow. ‘A nightie?’ Who would let their children out in this weather dressed like that?

‘I’ve lost her.’

Edith snaps her fingers in recognition. ‘You live across the road. I knew I’d seen you before. Aren’t you cold?’

The boy shakes his head and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. ‘I’ve lost Skye. She’s wearing a pink dressing gown and yellow boots. I don’t know which way she went. Did you see her up that way?’

‘No, I haven’t. How old is she?’

‘Three.’

‘Three! No, dear. If I’d seen a little dot roaming the streets I would have picked her up. Look at the weather.’ Edith looks to the sky and a cold shiver runs down her back. A young girl missing—here, near this park!

‘I have to go. I have to look.’

‘I’ll grab her if I see her and take her home. All right?’ she calls after him but he is gone, jogging down toward the creek. Edith feels a sense of foreboding. A three-year-old is missing. Surely it couldn’t happen again.

She considers whether to follow the shoeless boy into the park to help him look for the little one. She turns and looks up and down the street. The little tyke has probably just wandered off in search of butterflies or frogs. She remembers what her own son, Gregory, was like. He was an inquisitive little chap, always on the go, always seeking excitement. The thought of Gregory does not console her.

She stands at the edge of the park staring at the space the boy left behind and tries to push Gregory from her head. After twenty-five years it is still too much to deal with. His birthday will arrive soon enough and she will have to deal with the grief and her shortcomings all over again. It is ­unavoidable.

As Edith hurries down the street she thinks about Amelia, the little girl they found dead in the park three years ago. The poor, sweet child was just four years of age. Edith wonders if it easier to lose a child of three or four than a child of seventeen. She scolds herself for such a ridiculous thought. Surely age is irrelevant. Although, the manner of death might make it worse. At least she knows Gregory did not suffer. At least she knows it was instant—no pain. Amelia’s death was brutal. Her tiny body was bruised, broken and water-logged. It sent the community into shock for months. The streets were empty of children for a very long time. The gossip, the speculation was appalling.

Edith hears the sound of children’s laughter behind. She glances over her shoulder and sees three thin girls with oversized backpacks. School’s out. It’s getting late. It’ll be dark early tonight and icy cold. She must help. She must go to the family home to see what she can do. Hopefully the little dot will already be there, safe and sound.

Edith walks as quickly as her arthritic knees will allow. She passes Amelia’s house and the sick feeling returns to her stomach. She rounds the bend, passes Jack and Mary’s house and wonders if Mary is home. A dim light shines through the lace netting in the lounge window. Mary will probably be busying herself in the kitchen, perhaps preparing dinner, which they like to eat early. She has an urge to call in and tell them of the missing child but realises she is over-reacting. The shoeless boy has probably already found his sister and they’ll be strolling home right now.

At Number 13’s gate, she hesitates. The blinds are still down. They’ve been closed to the world all day. She shrugs, charges up the gravel driveway and hears a voice—a shout. Thank goodness, someone is home.