TWENTY-THREE

Monday morning. Rose sits on one side of Lizzie's bed, Jo on the other, while a woman bustles in and out with cups of tea from the trolley in the passage. Jo has asked to be present and Rose, with Alice's approval, has agreed, but on two conditions. That Lizzie agrees and that Jo remains silent. Rose is certain Lizzie will jib at Jo's presence, but she just looks at her mother expressionlessly when she asks if she can sit with her and then shrugs as though it doesn't really matter.

Rose is uneasy. She thinks this would be better done by one of the experts. But —

'She trusts you Rose.'

'She left her baby with you Rose.'

'It might come better from you Miss Anthony.'

'We'd like to try it this way first.'

'We'll be in the ward office if you need us.'

And the clincher. 'It'll work out better for the baby if we do it this way.'

So here she is. She wishes she was somewhere else. She wishes she was dusting the shelves in the shop and not Carlos, dallying over any book he fancies, putting one or two aside in lieu of wages. She'd hardly got the request out before he agreed. 'A day or two, I'm yours,' he said, 'keeps me out of mischief while I'm waiting for the phone to ring.' Which is an exaggeration because he has as much work as he wants. Lucky Carlos, to be able to pick and choose. His parents left him their house which has a flat attached so he has no mortgage, a small income from the fiat, and painting signs four days a week brings in as much as he wants. 'I never want to be a millionaire,' he told Rose once, 'just earn enough to sit in the sun and read whenever I feel like it.' He has no partner, male or female. 'There's something left out of me. I'm not ambitious and I think I'm asexual,' he confided to Rose. 'Actually, I prefer books.'

Morning tea is served. The tea is weak but deliciously hot. 'Biscuits?' the woman asks. They decline.

'Nana,' Lizzie says when the woman has gone, shutting the door behind her, 'it was Nana. She told me and she told Malcolm. We both thought it was crazy, you and Mum not knowing, but she made us promise we would never tell. She wanted someone to know before she died. She really loved Sim, as she called him. She really did. Even when she was dying she thought of him. She said she'd promised Ada never to tell.' Lizzie gulps her tea, swallows, then says, 'I let her down. I told you,' she says to Jo, 'I went and told you.' There is dislike and resentment in her voice, as though her breaking the confidence Thelma reposed in her has nothing to do with her and everything to do with Jo. Jo is silent. So far she's keeping her promise but Rose is on tenterhooks. Lizzie drinks her tea slowly, her hands around the cup as though she's cold.

Yesterday. Rose refused all the offers from Claude, Puti, Bridget, even Elena, to accompany her. Olga hadn't returned and wasn't at the café because Rose rang. Rose thought this meeting with Jo would definitely be unpleasant, probably painful, but she knew she had to do it on her own. The door opened. Jo took one look at Rose. 'Lizzie told you.' Her voice was bitter but there was a deep vein of something else moving slowly underneath the bitterness. Relief?

'Lizzie? No, Ada did.'

Jo frowned, said carefully, 'Ada told you? When?'

'She made a tape. Can I come in Jo?'

Jo turned and walked down the hall and Rose followed. Jo led the way into the sitting room. It was like walking into a furniture-shop window. Looking around, Rose found it hard to believe she and Jo were really sisters. Don't be such a pain Rose, not everyone wanted to spend hours placing a chair or a cushion.

The couch, patterned with roses, stood along one wall, chairs that match each side of the fireplace. There was a polished rimu coffee table in front of the couch. No clutter, no books, not even a cushion. There was a fire going in the grate but the room felt cold. Along the outside wall was a row of large windows overlooking the gardens and wide lawn. Jo indicated a chair by the windows and she stood looking out. There was a little pale sunlit patch on the floor and Rose thankfully placed her feet in the middle of it.

Jo said, 'I know you didn't touch that girl.'

Rose nodded. 'I know you do.'

Jo kept looking out the window as though it was preferable to looking at Rose. 'I've always envied you,' she said after a long pause.

'Why?'

'Why do you think?' A flash of temper there. 'It wasn't very enjoyable being the daughter of the woman whose bed another woman's husband died in.'

'People soon found something else to talk about.'

'Oh no. They never forgot. Some of them still look at me, waiting for me to do the same. That's why Lizzie was such a worry. She was so like Mum. It seemed too good to be true when she married Royston.'

Rose looked away, at the opposite wall. She felt her eyes stop, swivel back, then prickle. One of Ada's wall hangings. Of course. Jo inherited that from Thelma. Rose remembered Ada sewing it. Resolution, she called it. Its background was red, Thelma's favourite colour. In one corner was a large black circle and running out from that a series of fine jagged or curving lines, all in different primary colours. They were either bursting in, or bursting out of the black and came to an end in a wide yellow circular line. Outside the yellow line were stylised flowers, roses, irises, tulips all mingling with the spring narcissuses Thelma loved. The words 'For Thelma, 1986' were stitched along the bottom. It should look totally out of place on this wall. Somehow it doesn't.

'I'd forgotten,' Rose said, 'that you had that hanging.' She remembered she had none of Ada's work herself now. Because of your own stupidity Rose. 'She made it for Thelma's sixtieth,' Rose said, as though Jo didn't know.

Jo's mouth worked irritably. 'Don't you mean your mother's sixtieth?'

Rose thought how to say what she wanted to say and then said it. 'My mother's name was Ada,' she said. 'Yes, I know, I know. But there's a lot more to mothering than giving birth. I know it wasn't Thelma's choice, but she did agree.'

'Because she loved Sim Anthony more than she loved us.' The bitterness again.

'Yes.' There's nothing else to say. It was true.

Jo sighed, a long sigh. 'I knew as soon as you found out what Lizzie named the baby it was only a matter of time.' She gave a dry little snort. 'Your precious Skeleton Woman at work, I suppose.'

'Probably.'

'This mess. It's all my fault.'

'Parts of it, parts of it Jo, but only parts. Lizzie's got to take some responsibility. Royston too. And me, for that matter.'

'What's going to happen Rose?'

Rose had expected a big dramatic scene and was surprised at the comparative ease of this meeting. Perhaps it is only the small things we jump up and down about; perhaps the big things are more easily accepted simply because they are so huge.

Lizzie puts her cup back on the locker and looks away from her mother towards Rose. 'It was when I first knew I was pregnant. I was really excited and happy and it just spilled out. I said I wondered if it would be twins. Mum said, 'Do be sensible Lizzie,' ' Lizzie mimics Jo, 'in that know-it-all way that always riles me. She said 'Just because you think you'd fancy twins doesn't mean you'll have them. Twins run in families and there are none either in the Hipp family or in ours.'' And I said, 'Oh yes there are.' And then she kept on to know what I meant until in the end,' Lizzie looks at Jo as though she hates her, 'I told you! I broke my promise to Nana and I told you. I just wanted to shut you up.' Lizzie slaps her hand against the bedspread in time with the words. 'I — just — wanted — to — shut — you — up.'

Don't say a word, Jo, don't say a word, Rose pleads silently. After a while Lizzie says, 'Malcolm was really wild. A confidence is a confidence and I should be ashamed of myself. Malcolm's always been like that and I don't usually take any notice, but this time he was right. I couldn't get it out of my mind. Nana had trusted me and I'd let her down.'

Jo puts her hand out but Rose frowns and she pulls it back. She's as pale as her daughter is flushed.

'That's why I didn't want to see you. I couldn't. Every time I saw you it reminded me that I'd let Nana down. And you were — funny — anyway. I know Dad was worried.'

Jo nods, but doesn't speak. Good one Jo, keep it up.

Lizzie sighs. 'It was all my fault. I knew it was. Malcolm was disgusted so I stopped seeing him. Finola's nice but — I felt terrible.'

'I should have known the minute I heard the boy's name.' Rose voice comes out as though there are cracks in it but Lizzie doesn't notice.

'The Hipps are great on family names. They wanted Elmore. But I stuck out for Simon. So he's Simon Elmore Hipp. They all wanted to know why. I just said I liked it. I knew it would make Mum and Malcolm really steam.' A reminiscent pleasure colours Lizzie's voice. She had delighted in upsetting her mother and brother. Maybe she saw it as paying them back for the months of self-disgust and anxiety she'd suffered after spilling the beans to Jo.

Physically, Lizzie's looking better, her mouth is clearly not so sore, she can drink the hot tea and her words come out without effort. She's tired though and her eyes are wary, guarded, but that's understandable. Revenge always comes back and bites you on the bum, as Rose knows only too well. From the outside it's easy to see that it's not worth it, but from the inside it always seems that it's the only gratification on offer.

'You've seen Malcolm?'

Lizzie nods. She doesn't say any more, just looks out the window at the trees. The wind has dropped. Hopefully the gales are on the way out. At least the washing dries quickly now the rain has stopped. 'Is there anything more satisfying than a line full of dry washing when you've got a baby in the house?' Elena asked that morning.

Rose thinks of Olga as she and Lizzie stare out the window and Jo stares at Lizzie. They all sit like people waiting for something. It seems like a century ago Olga suggested Rose sell her place and go and live with her. When she rang, finally, to say she was home but wouldn't come round to Claude's because she had to do the GST returns, organise the banking and make sure the orders had been done, Rose felt bereft.

Olga's had second thoughts, Rose is sure of it. Rose is not keen on the idea that Olga had accepted her refusal so enthusiastically, but it keeps hanging around in her brain and catches her when she's not expecting it. If her brain's not dredging up unpleasant thoughts about Olga it's busily searching through its files so it can bring up things like the little girl who'd been kept prisoner in a wardrobe for months. Hardly any food or water, just shut in the darkness. She was found nearly dead and is now in hospital. Her mother is being psychiatrically assessed. Surely someone, someone must have known there was a child, must have wondered why they didn't see her around. Surely she was missed at school. Once, Rose had relegated these cruelties to Dickens or Bronte or third-world countries, but that was because she was firmly into keeping her eyes shut to what she read in the papers and what she saw on television. You were a bloody wimp Rose. Look at the last time you were at the hairdressers. He was just back from India and he told you, he actually told you quite matter-of-factly, that some very poor Indian parents deliberately maim, injure and disable their children simply to make them better prospects for begging. He said you see them everywhere on the streets and people walk by, immune to their suffering. Your brain remembered, but it didn't make a bloody atom of difference to you. You skated on very happily, Rose Anthony. That's all very well, thinks Rose, but what difference can one person possibly make? Well first of all Rose, you can get this train on the tracks. You know what you have to do, so do it.

'Lizzie,' she says. There must be some signal in her voice because Jo sits up even straighter in the hospital chair. She's like a runner waiting for the starter's pistol. Now they're away. 'Lizzie, a police officer came to see me this morning. Royston is sticking to his story, swears he didn't hit the baby. He admits hitting you and, now that he's calmed down, knows he needs to do something about his temper. He says that when you wouldn't tell him where the baby was he thought you'd done something dreadful and that's why he panicked, why he lost his temper. He's unshaken about harming the baby. He's never wavered about that.' Rose takes a quick slurp of tea, thinks, get on with it Rose. 'I went and saw him myself just to, I don't know, see for myself I suppose.'

Royston hadn't wanted to look at Rose. When they brought him in and he sat down opposite he kept his head bent and sat silent. He looked unkempt, somehow, although he'd obviously showered and shaved. His face wasn't sullen, as far as Rose could judge, but it was resistant. He kept blowing his nose, which was very red, and his eyes, when he lifted them, looked sore. 'Hay-fever,' he said, when she asked him for something to say. This is Simmie's father, she repeated to herself, Simmie's father, so something had to be done.

'We met at the wedding, Royston,' she said finally, 'I'm Rose. I always thought I was Ada Anthony's daughter, but I've recently discovered I was really Thelma's — hers and my father's. Jo's my sister. Did you know that?'

He shook his head, but he seemed to relax. He darted a quick look at her and she smiled, she hoped in a friendly fashion.

'This is a mess Royston,' she said. 'I know you've told your story to any number of people, but I'd like to hear it please. If you will.'

'Remember,' Alice had told her, 'he won't look angry or violent, he'll probably look young and scared so just remember what he did. What he must have looked like on Saturday night. Both of them are Royston. He's given room to the violent part of himself once; he'll do it again unless he learns not to. He won't want to reveal what you want him to tell you. It's one thing to say it to police officers or a lawyer, but quite another to face you. He knows you're the one his wife left their baby with, the one who saw the bruising on his son's body, the one to whom Lizzie went for refuge. He won't want to face you and say yes, I did that. So he'll do anything to avoid it even if it means shifting the blame on to someone else. Don't believe him just because he looks sorry and ashamed, only believe him if you can tick off everything else and that's all you've got left. Like they say in the best murder mysteries, you eliminate all the suspects and what you've got left must be the murderer.'

Royston was unshakeable. Yes, he'd hit Lizzie, yes he lost his temper, yes he went mad. He said it over and over, yes, he did all that, but he did not hit the baby. It was because the baby was missing that he lost it so completely. He didn't make excuses, he knew he would have to do some things he wouldn't want to do, that all the newspapers would carry the story, that everyone at work would know, his brothers and sisters would know, the people he went to school with would know, everyone in the Church of the Golden Light would know. He would have to appear in court and plead guilty to assaulting his wife and accept whatever sentence the judge handed down. All this he knew. But he was adamant. He did not touch his son and nothing Rose or the officers or his parents or the welfare officer said made him retract this one fact.

'Thank you Royston,' Rose said at last, feeling as though she'd run a marathon. She'd only been there an hour, but it felt like days.

He lifted his head, blew his nose, and said, 'You believe me?'

'Yes,' she said, and thought this is probably wrong, I've done it all wrong, but she believed him so she might as well say. She didn't like him much, even if he was Elmore Hipp's great-grandson, but she believed him on this one fact.

He blew his nose again and she suspected that this time it wasn't just because of the hayfever, but she remembered Alice's advice and just smiled and said goodbye.

Looking directly into Lizzie's face Rose says clearly, 'Lizzie, did Royston hit the baby?' There. It's out. Lizzie is so pale Rose thinks she will faint. Jo sits like stone. Rose sees very clearly that what the police suspect is true. 'Lizzie,' she says, 'oh Lizzie.'

'It was an accident,' Lizzie says, 'it was an accident. You have to believe me Rose, it was an accident.'

Jo's hand goes up to her mouth and presses against her lips. Anything she wants to say, might have said, is effectively stopped. Rose doesn't, can't speak. But she must. 'Keep it short,' Alice says, 'ask exactly what you want to know. No more, no less. Then shut up.'

'What happened, Lizzie?'

Lizzie's face goes through a series of contortions as she struggles against the tears. Her eyes are seeing herself over the past few months. 'I was feeling rotten,' she whispers, 'I'd been feeling awful for days, weeks, probably since I got pregnant. It was that business with Mum and Malcolm. I couldn't get it out of my head. I thought it would be all right when the baby was born, but it was worse. I couldn't understand why I was making such a thing of having a baby. Other girls my age have babies, and they manage. Why couldn't I? Royston said I should pull myself together. He said his mother had six children and she just got on with it. The doctor said I had a touch of post-natal depression but it would go away in time.' Lizzie stops.

Don't say a word, Rose, not one word.

There is a long silence. Outside she hears someone asking if someone else has taken their tablets. The silence continues.

Rose thinks it's not going to work, it's not going to work, I shouldn't have let Jo come, I shouldn't have come myself, I should have left it to the experts, it's not bloody working. What the hell am I going to do now.

Then it happens. A tap is turned on somewhere. Lizzie says quickly, 'Simmie had been crying all day. I think he sensed I was losing it. People say babies sense things. Whole hours went by and I didn't know where they'd gone. I came to at one stage and he was screaming and I was shouting at him. I was horrified,' Lizzie's got a faraway look in her eyes, 'and scared. So scared. Everything was out of control. I made up my mind I should tell Mum.' Lizzie seems to have forgotten Jo is sitting beside her. 'I didn't want to. I hadn't seen her since I told her what Nana said. But I knew I had to do something. I should have known better.' Lizzie's voice is bitter with remembered pain. 'Mum said I was exaggerating. She said I'd made enough trouble without dragging Royston into it. Somehow she got it into her head I was scared of Royston, that I was complaining about him — well I was, but about his lack of sympathy not because he'd hit me. I was the one I was scared of. I did try to tell Mum, but she didn't want to know.'

Rose doesn't dare look at Jo. 'What about Malcolm?'

'Mr Perfect? Mum's favourite child? Great job, lovely Finola, always done everything right? You must be joking. He paid a duty visit after Simmie was born and he could hardly wait to get away. I couldn't say anything to him, I just couldn't. Everything was boiling away inside me and I remembered all the times he'd done well and I hadn't. I was so tired. I couldn't believe there was so much to do. I was staggered at how much there is to do when you've got a baby. I'd just get one thing done and there'd be something else. I never seemed to get to the end of it. He was fretful at nights so I wasn't sleeping. Royston slept in another room so he wouldn't be disturbed. He said he had to work long hours and needed his sleep. He bought me some vitamins and I took them just to keep him quiet. And; Lizzie swallowed hard and made herself continue, 'it's awful, I'm sorry Rose, but I started bleeding when I did poos and there was blood on my pants and I thought I had cancer or something. I was frantic, worrying who would look after the baby. I didn't want Mum to have him.' It's bizarre, but Lizzie smiles. 'It's piles Rose! The nurses here tell me it's piles! They say lots of women get them during pregnancy and after giving birth. I didn't know that. Funny how no one tells you these things, such basic things. Have you noticed how no one talks about piles?'

'She won't mean to,' Alice had said, 'but she might go off the track. It'll be such a relief for her to talk. Just let her go and when you judge it's right, bring her back on track. Quietly. But to the point.'

'How did Simmie get hurt?'

Lizzie shakes her head and her eyes are fearful. Rose reaches out and holds Lizzie's hand. She waits. 'He'd been crying off and on all day. I was so desperate. I was screaming at him to stop and then I had a horrible thought. Perhaps he was hungry. You see, I couldn't remember whether I'd actually fed him at all that day. What if I was actually starving my baby? I ran with him to the fridge to get the formula — I'd lost my own milk quite early, another thing Royston complained about — and oh, I don't, I truly don't really remember exactly, but I opened the fridge door too quickly and too suddenly and the corner of it hit him on the arm and the top of his shoulder. Oh God, I'll never forget his scream. You know something?' Lizzie leans towards Rose and Rose bends towards Lizzie. Lizzie whispers, 'Rose, I don't know if I'm telling you the truth or not. I think I banged him accidentally with the fridge door, but maybe I'm just saying that?' Rose gathers Lizzie into her arms and holds her. 'There, there,' Rose says, 'there, there.' Over Lizzie's shoulder she sees Jo has her eyes shut and there are tears sliding down her face.

Lizzie says into Rose's shoulder, 'Simmie screamed and screamed. I knew I had to get him away from me. That I was dangerous. That I couldn't be trusted not to hurt my own baby, my own baby. So I found an empty tomato box of Dad's, packed Simmie in it just as he was, and got a plastic bag, pierced some holes in it and fastened it to the box. I think I remembered to pack some nappies and bottles and the stuff to make the formula, but I was in such a stew I can't be sure. Anyway I was all set to take him to Nana and then I remembered. Nana was dead. I'm really going crazy I thought, I helped to carry her coffin out. For a while I didn't know what to do. Then I remembered you. Nana said once that you were reliable and you didn't make a song and dance about things, you just got on with them. I felt such relief you wouldn't believe it. So I found a piece of card and wrote 'For Rose Anthony' on it, and then I — I just put him in the car and drove him to your place. I kept repeating to myself, Rose is reliable and she doesn't make a song and dance about things, that's what Nana said, so I thought a baby's crying wouldn't worry you. And when I've had a sleep I'll come and get him. I felt so calm. I knew, I just knew you'd look after him. It wasn't until later that I thought, well of course you'd look after him. You're his great-aunt. Of course you'd look after him.'

'And you were right,' Rose musters up as much approval as she can. 'Of course you were. But tell me Lizzie. How was it Royston didn't know until Saturday night?'

Lizzie sinks into the pillows. She looks down at her fingers as they pick at the sheet. 'He was working late on Friday. They had a few people off sick and when the supermarket was closed he had to help fill the shelves. When he asked about Simmie I said he'd been crying a lot and I didn't want him disturbed. Royston had to get up early next morning and he was tired so he accepted that. He was late again on Saturday but this time he insisted on seeing Simmie. And of course he wasn't there.'

'Why wouldn't you tell him where he was?'

'He hurt my feelings,' Lizzie says, 'so why shouldn't I hurt his? Actually I quite liked seeing him upset. I thought it served him right. And it did. He had no right to say the things he did. About his mother and that. I thought I'd let it hurt him for a while. See how he liked it. I left it too long. Once he started hitting me I thought he was going to kill me and I thought if I told him what I'd done he would. Then all of a sudden he stopped and he started crying. I just grabbed a blanket and the car keys and — I didn't know where else to go — so I came to you. I'm sorry Rose, I'm sorry.'

'No need,' Rose says, 'no need. You did exactly the right thing to come to me. Exactly.'

'Did I?' Lizzie bursts into tears.

'Yes,' Rose says over and over, 'you did the right thing. Exactly the right thing.'

'Do you think Simmie will ever forgive me?'

'Of course he will,' Rose says, although she has absolutely no idea.

Rose says later, 'How do we know whether Royston would have gone berserk if Lizzie hadn't refused to tell him where the baby was or whether he was a time bomb waiting for the right trigger and he would have blown up at some stage if she frightened or annoyed him enough.'

'Which comes first,' Alice says, 'which comes first. The old, old dilemma.'