Chapter One

MELISSA

 

I was hit with the memory as soon as I woke up. I instantly felt sick. I needed to talk to someone, but I didn't know who would listen and not judge. Anyone who heard my story would surely feel better than me. I was sick of people judging me – I'd just had months of it. Months of interviews, phone calls, people watching me. I was exhausted, to the bone. I listened out for my son's wail, but it didn't come. Perhaps I'd never hear it again. And with that realisation, the tears welled up in my eyes and soon fat teardrops were falling down my face.

“You're a mess, Melissa,” I told myself. “It's no wonder, no wonder at all, that they don't think you're a fit mother.” But then I thought about it more. “Surely, an unfit mother wouldn't be this upset? I have a natural motherly instinct. Hell, I'm waiting for my son to cry! Unfit mothers just don't care, do they?”

And then it hit me – today I'm listening out for my son to cry, but three months earlier, I wasn't. Maybe I was just that kind of unfit mother. I walked to the kitchen, pissed off. Angry at the system, angry at the people, angry at the courts, but most of all, angry at myself.

 

ZARA

 

The alarm clock startled me from my dreams. I couldn’t even remember what I was dreaming about, but I knew I'd rather be asleep than awake. Renee stirred beside me, and sighed, but we didn't talk. Instead, on autopilot, I padded to the shower, thinking about my day ahead. I turned the water on to hot, middle of winter, and waited for it to heat up while I stripped. I looked at myself in the mirror, mostly happy with what I saw. A little pudgy in the middle, but you get that at 35. Or at least the girls in my family get it around their mid-thirties. I showered and then came out of the bathroom. By now Renee looked more awake. “Hey,” she said.

“Hey,” I pulled a pair of charcoal trousers out of my wardrobe. Grabbing a white bra and white satin blouse, I got ready for work. “What's your day like, today?” I asked Renee, as I brushed my long, dark hair.

“Not too bad. I have a few meetings.” Renee works as an Executive Assistant to some big-wig in an accounting firm. She's a very efficient worker. I, on the other hand, am a more ambitious, but far less organised, academic.

“My day isn't so bad either,” I was half concentrating on doing my makeup as I spoke. “I've got to finish writing a paper, but other than that, not too much. Maybe tonight we could go out for dinner?”

“Yeah,” Renee said, lightly slapping my bum as she walked past me on her way to the bathroom. “Good idea.” Neither of us had much motivation to cook by the end of the week, so I’d known she’d agree. I put some shoes on – my comfortable flats, being a Friday, after all—and walked out to the kitchen. Although I was hoping to get ready for work pretty quickly, I decided to brew the nice coffee pot, rather than the horrible instant stuff. And just as I got my coffee cup ready, the phone rang, interrupting my thoughts.

“Hello?” I popped my bread in the toaster.

“Hello, I'm looking for Zara or Renee.”

“That's me.” I then realised she wouldn’t be able to decipher which of us I was, added, “I'm Zara.”

“Hi, Zara. I'm Angela from Sydney Child Services.”

“Oh, right?” I was intrigued. Renee and I had trained to become foster carers over the past few months and finally had everything approved last week. I knew we had one form still outstanding, so I figured Angela was ringing about that. Unless…oh, I didn’t dare wonder; instead, I held my breath.

“Last night, we had three children come into care.” The toast sprung up from the toaster and I felt faint. Three children? Why was she telling me this? I wondered, not daring to dream.

“We haven't got a placement for them, yet, they came in so late, and as you were recently approved as foster carers, we wondered whether you would be interested in the placement.”

“Three children?” I repeated. “Wow,” I laughed nervously. I heard Renee finish up in the bathroom, so I raced to the bedroom and gestured silently, trying to get her attention. I repeated myself, “three children,” emphasising three. Renee's eyes widened.

“What?” she whispered, alarmed, and I flagged my hands to shush her, so I could hear Angela continue.

“Yes,” Angela replied. “They're in your age group. Normally we wouldn't have a first placement of three children, but they're in your age group, and we do like to keep siblings together. Plus, we do have such a shortage of carers.”

“Of course.” I nodded, even though Angela couldn't see that. I knew all that, they'd emphasised all this in our training sessions. Still, I wondered if we could handle three children. “Could you tell me more?” I asked, stalling for time.

“I haven't met them myself, but I hear they're quiet children. Then again, given the circumstances, it's hard to know what to expect. A baby boy, he's eight months old.” We'd always imagined a baby boy! “Twin girls, they're three.”

“When would they need placement?” I asked, even though I already knew the answer.

“Immediately,” came the reply.

Although it wasn't a shock, it hit me. We could be a family of five today! “I'll discuss it with Renee and get back to you,” I said.

“Sure, Zara. As you can imagine, this is a matter of urgency. I mean…”

“Yeah, I'll get straight back to you, in about twenty minutes.” I said, feeling the pressure.

Renee sat down and gave me a funny smile. “Give it to me,” she said, half-laughing.

“Three kids. Eight months and three.”

“That's only two.”

I shook my head. “There's TWO three-year-olds.”

“TWO three-year-olds? Wow, that's hard to deal with!” We laughed.

“Boys or girls?” she asked.

“Baby boy and twin girls.”

“Identical?”

I shrugged. “Honestly we didn't go into that much detail. They only went into care overnight. Quiet kids, apparently.”

“Yeah, but imagine being taken from your family. Of course, you'd be quiet. Three kids?” She shook her head in disbelief.

“Too much?” I asked her, a little disappointed. “Maybe we should say no. There will be more offers, more kids.” I was worried that if we said no, we would go to the bottom of the list, but I didn’t say that.

“Looks, it's possible. We always wanted three kids. Not all at once, but one day,” she said, clearly thinking it over. She looked a bit like a deer caught in the headlights.

“This woman, Angela. She needs an answer ASAP.”

“ASAP,” Renee repeated. She shook her head. “It's just such a leap.”

“Yeah, but it's a leap we are ready for.”

“So you think we should do it?” she asked me.

“I don't know. I mean, maybe it's short term, maybe it's long term. I didn't even ask. But these kids are probably sitting in some office right now, scared. They need a loving home, and this is why we did this.”

“Yeah, but I haven't even finished work yet!”

“That's okay, Renee. I reckon I could work from home, classes are over for now. How long do you need?” Deep down, I was a little worried about staying at home with children, but I had the flexibility in my career that Renee didn’t have, and it would only be until Renee’s boss would be able to replace her.

“A month. Anthony could replace me in a month,” Renee said decisively, “but are you sure you can do this?” I nodded with certainty I didn’t entirely feel.

“So we're doing this? I'll stay home with the kids, then you take over. Yeah? We're really doing this?” I was beside myself with excitement and nerves and couldn’t believe this was really happening.

“Yeah. Ring the lady back. Maybe I'll see if Anthony can do without me today. Shit, Zara. Which room will we put the baby in?” Renee looked anxious.

“The one with the cot,” I said, laughing. I couldn’t believe she was even asking that question right now, but I kept laughing. “Who cares? Let's just ring Angela back.”

 

RENEE

 

I sat at the dining table, while Zara picked up the phone for the second time. This time she dialled the number and asked to be put through to Angela. I had a million thoughts going through my mind. Would Zara cope as a stay-at-home-mum for a month? She wasn't really the maternal type. Would I cope for a lot longer than a month? Just how damaged would these kids be? We knew we wanted to help kids in need, but the reality, rather than the concept, was a rather scary thought!

I listened to her chatting to Angela, but I really wanted to hear the answers. Answers to questions like “would you expect it to be long term care or short term?” “when would we meet them?” and “is there anything we need to know about their case?” Part of me wished I'd made that phone call, so I wouldn’t have to wait for the answers, but I knew Zara was better with that kind of thing. And the truth was, my mind was spinning so much, I wasn't sure if I would actually hear her answers. It was much better for Zara to get the answers and then tell me. At least she'd be able to tell me the answers reliably. I sighed. My heart hadn't stopped racing since I'd come out of the bathroom. I felt sick and excited.

She hung up the phone and smiled triumphantly. “Well, we're not going out for dinner tonight. We've got three kids.”

I shook my head in absolute surprise. We'd done some mad things in the five years we'd been together – travel, renovations, career changes. We were always doing something big. But, this? This trumped everything we'd ever done, both as a couple and as two individuals. I just couldn't stop shaking my head. “Angela is going to bring them here,” she explained. “About 10.30. You'd better ring Anthony.”

“We better tidy up!” I glanced around the house. It wasn't too bad, but a few things needed tidying up. But instead I picked up the phone and used the stored numbers to call my boss. I half wanted to ring in sick, embarrassed that my dream to be a foster parent would stop me from working. Anthony knew I was training to be a foster parent, but I'd told him it was a few months off yet. I'd thought it was.

Anthony picked up the phone, and I explained to him what was going on. “Wow,” he said, with no frustration in his voice. “Congratulations, Mum!” My stomach sunk, as he congratulated me. I realised then that our gain was another couple's loss. Somewhere out there a parent or two were suffering the loss of these kids. I didn't really know how to reconcile those feelings, and it certainly hadn’t been an emotion I’d expected to feel, but somehow, in that moment, being congratulated for this felt a bit hollow.

I told Zara about the call. “He was pretty good. Said he could definitely do without me today but wondered when I'd be home full time. I said I'd chat to him about it on Monday, but I was thinking in about four weeks. He said that should be possible. He wondered if I was absolutely definite. I said I'd definitely know more by Monday. He wanted to know if he should ring the recruitment agency, and I said yes, but don't sign anything yet!” I laughed.

“So, you've basically given notice, then?” Zara asked, surprised. She pulled toast out of the toaster and tossed it in the rubbish bin.

“Well, yeah. I guess so,” I replied, somewhat shyly. “I'm kinda unemployed!” That stung a little. The first time since I'd left school that I wouldn't have a full-time job. Zara would be supporting me. It would feel a bit odd to be a 'kept woman', but then again it wouldn't be like I'd be sitting on my bum.

“Hey, we better ring our families!” Zara said. And so began a series of calls – her brother, sister, and parents and my parents and two sisters. As we broke the news each time, we got exclamations of surprise, excitement, and a ton of questions. Most of all, they wanted to meet them. So did we!

 

MELISSA

 

I sat at the kitchen table – I had the television going, but I wasn't watching it. I was getting more and more pissed off by the minute. Angrier and even more sick! How dare those bastards come to my house and steal my kids? Yeah, the fuckers said it was coming if I didn’t work with them, they'd told me during interviews for the last month. How did it even start? That stupid bitch had first dobbed us in. Reckons it was drugs and alcohol. Whatever. Truth is, as I told the caseworker, most parents drink and plenty actually use drugs too. Parents don't admit it, but I know lots of parents that take drugs. Honest. Bianca still has her kids and she’s much worse than me. Bloody hell. Besides, I never used anything when my kids were awake, and I even stopped when I was pregnant with Jacob. Either way, that nosy bitch got her nose stuck into things. And then one night I was out with the twins. Jacob was home tucked up in bed and David was home. I was out with the twins, I'd had a bit to drink, but I wasn't completely legless or anything. Honestly! The twins were in the double stroller and that stupid cop gave me that look, and I went and asked him what his problem was. And that was the night that Child Services got seriously involved. That was the night my life may as well have ended.

I probably should eat something, but I felt too sick. I wanted to go to bed and cry. My babies, my poor babies. Where the hell are they? Who has them? They must be so scared. Child Services act so high and bloody mighty, but the truth is, they're doing worse for the kids than anything. I never mistreated my kids. I may have treated myself badly, David too, but I always loved those babies and gave them everything. But taking them off their family to some sterile office? Putting them with some other family and expecting everything to be okay? “Here’s your new family, kids.” Awful, bloody awful. It's sickening. I should ring ‘A Current Affair’ or something! Get the case on TV! But I knew the truth. Everyone would judge me. Everyone would think that I mistreated the kids. Everyone would think that a Government Department wouldn't take kids off a family for no reason. Assholes. Only I knew the truth. I started to sob and lay on my kitchen floor. I knew in that moment that I'd never actually be happy again.

Right now, I just wanted to die.

 

ZARA

 

I was on a high, but Renee kept trying to bring me down to earth. “What are we giving them for dinner?” she asked me.

“I'll get fish and chips or something,” I replied. I didn't care, I was going to be a mother! My world was turning upside down, and it was going to be fun!

“Not just today. I mean every day,” Renee said, as she ran around the room putting books and newspapers away, clearly flustered about the big change in our lives.

“Yeah, we'll work it out. Remember when we first moved in together? I didn't know what to feed you every day,” I laughed. “I remember thinking how weird it was to cook for another person every day. I worked it out!” Although I didn’t do all the cooking, I did most of it, because I enjoyed it.

Renee shook her head again. “Yeah, but I told you what I liked to eat. Can three-year-olds articulate like that?”

I laughed again. It seemed the nerves were making me more giggly than usual. “We'll work it out, babe.” I became serious for a moment, and I walked over to her and stopped her. I put my hands on her shoulders and looked into her bright blue eyes. “It's okay. We'll work it out.” She kissed me briefly on the lips.

“I love you, Princess,” she said.

“And, I, my dear, love you! I can't imagine doing this with anyone but you!” She had instantly calmed, and concentrated on me, smiling at me, proudly. We were connecting, it was a nice moment. And then, out of the blue, she spoke up again, returning to her nerves, “Do you reckon we need a triple pram?” she asked, her forehead creasing.

I shook my head. “I doubt it. Most three-year-olds like to walk. Just a single.” I looked at my watch. 10.15am.

We sat on the couch and talked, but not for long. Soon, Renee started pacing. She paced from the two children's bedrooms to our bedroom and back to the lounge. “Do we have enough toys?” she asked.

“We're like a mini Toys R Us!” I laughed, surveying the toys we’d been accumulating while we’d imagined becoming parents. “We'll be fine.”

She grabbed “The Lion King” off the bookshelf and popped it in the DVD player. “I reckon we can watch TV with them,” she said.

“Yeah. That book I read said kids shouldn't have more than forty-five minutes a day of television.”

She looked perplexed as she raised her eyebrow at me. “Forty-five minutes? So no movies? Ever?”

I shook my head. “They have to be a certain age for movies.”

“What age is that?” she demanded.

I shrugged. “Maybe we could Google that.” I reached for my iPad. “Maybe six, I can’t remember.”

“No!” she exclaimed. “Oh, shit, they're here! Put that away, it looks untidy!”