The Throwaway Children (57 page)

‘And who are you, madam?’

‘My name is Delia Watson and this is Daisy Smart. We are friends of this girl and are extremely concerned that she has been locked in her room all day.’

‘They’re just busybodies,’ Mrs Glazer began to bluster. ‘That girl ain’t answering ’cos she’s hiding. That’s what. She’s that runaway you lot’re looking for.’

The policeman looked at her. ‘Perhaps you’d be good enough to unlock this door, madam.’ He spoke politely enough, but it was clear he did not approve of what she had done. Disgruntled, Mrs Glazer stepped forward and did as he asked.

Daisy pushed past her into the room and then stopped short with a cry of dismay. Delia and the policemen crowded in behind her and both stopped in horror at what they saw. Jean lay, curled up on her bed, eyes closed, her breathing stentorian, and on the floor beside her bed lay a small glass bottle.

The sergeant caught it up and looked at the label. ‘Sleeping pills,’ he said, and turning to his companion he barked, ‘Ambulance, Andrews! Sharpish!’

Andrews disappeared downstairs, as Delia and Daisy ran to the bedside, kneeling beside the unconscious girl. Delia tried to turn her over, and then they saw it, clutched in Jean’s arms, a child’s rose-patterned dress.

Daisy burst into tears and Delia held her close as the policeman tried to resuscitate the girl on the bed.

‘Anyone know her name?’ he asked.

‘Rosie Stevens,’ Delia said firmly before Mrs Glazer could say anything. ‘Her name is Rosie Stevens.’

The ambulance arrived and two sturdy ambulance men carried the unconscious Rosie down the stairs. Delia and Daisy went with her in the ambulance and as the ambulance streaked through the streets, siren blaring, they watched as the medic continued to work on Rosie, trying to bring her round. Daisy was clutching the glass bottle, its label telling them what drug Rosie had taken. When they reached the hospital, Rosie was rushed inside, and Delia turned aside to deal with the admission formalities. She stuffed some money into Daisy’s hand and said, ‘Fetch Rita. Take a taxi.’

Daisy raced outside to the taxi rank and gave the address in Randwick. ‘And please be quick,’ she cried, as the driver pulled away from the kerb. ‘I think she’s dying.’

Daisy had never been in a taxi before, but she had no time to think about the new experience. The sight of Rosie lying, unmoving, on the bed, filled her mind. She had to find Rita and get her to the hospital before it was too late.

‘Wait here,’ she called to the driver as they drew up outside the house. She leaped out of the cab, and running to the front door she kept one hand on the bell and banged on it with the other.

‘Hey,’ called Rita in surprise as she opened the door. ‘Dais? What’s all that about?’ Then she saw the expression on Daisy’s face. ‘Deeley,’ she cried. ‘Has something happened to Deeley?’

‘No,’ Daisy said, grabbing at her hand to pull her out to the waiting taxi, ‘but you got to come now, Reet. Deleey’s at the hospital, she’s with Rosie.’

Rita stopped short, and the colour drained from her face. ‘Rosie?’ she whispered.

‘Yeah!’ Daisy pulled at her again. ‘With Rosie. She’s took an overdose. Come on, Reet, come on!’

Rita allowed herself to be dragged into the taxi and within moments they were headed back the way they’d come.

When they reached the hospital Daisy paid off the taxi while Rita dashed inside to where Delia was waiting for her.

‘Where is she?’ Rita cried. ‘Where’s Rosie?’

‘They’ve pumped her stomach out,’ said Delia, putting her arms round Rita and holding her close. ‘They’ve done everything they can, but darling, I think you must prepare yourself for the worst.’

‘Can we see her?’ Rita begged. ‘I must see her.’

‘They said they’d call us, but I’ll ask again.’

Delia went in search of someone to ask as Daisy joined Rita in the waiting area.

‘Where did you find her?’ Rita asked. ‘How…?’

Before Daisy could start to explain Delia reappeared with a doctor in a white coat.

‘I believe you’re her sister,’ he said, taking Rita’s hand. ‘You can come in and see her now, just for a moment or two,’ adding as Delia and Daisy moved forward, ‘only one of you.’

He showed Rita into a side ward and said, as he closed the door behind her, ‘Just a few minutes.’

Rita looked down at the girl in the bed. She was thin and angular, her face the colour of putty, her fair hair, now tied back off her face, greasy and lank. The sheet covering her scarcely rose and fell as she breathed with faint, shallow breaths. Rita crossed to the bedside and gently took one of her hands and pressed it to her cheek. It was cold as ice.

‘Rosie,’ she whispered, ‘it’s me, Reet. Can you hear me, Rosie? I’ve come to get you. To take you home. Rosie? It’s Reet.’

Rosie’s eyelids flickered and for a moment Rita thought she was going to open her eyes, to see her there beside her, but then the hand in hers seemed to relax and with a last sigh her breathing ceased. With a wave of desolation Rita knew that though they had finally found Rosie, they’d found her too late.

Later, much later, when Rosie was properly laid out on a bed, her hair washed and brushed, her eyes closed in eternal sleep, Delia, Daisy and Rita were able to come back and sit with her for a while.

‘Poor Rosie, poor darling Rosie,’ Rita wept, holding her sister’s cold hand between her own. ‘What a dreadful life she had. What a cruel, cruel life.’

Daisy, ever practical, said, ‘Do we have to tell them, them Waters, what’s happened to her?’

‘No,’ Delia replied firmly, ‘we do not. They have no claim on her. She’s Rita’s sister, she’s formally identified her and we will take care of her now.’

‘Won’t the police tell them?’

‘No, I don’t think so,’ Delia replied. ‘We told them her name is Rose Stevens, not Jean Waters, and they seem to have accepted our identification.’

It was strange, Daisy thought as she looked down at the pale, peaceful face, framed by the soft golden hair, but now I can see it’s Rosie, just Rosie grown up. Why couldn’t I see it before?

They sat in silence for a while and then Rita reached into a bag at her feet and pulled out Rosie’s beloved Knitty. Carefully she tucked him under Rosie’s arm, then replacing her hand under the sheet that covered her, she reached down and kissed Rosie’s smooth, cold cheek. ‘Bye, Rosie,’ she said softly. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t look after you better, but you’re safe now. Nobody can’t hurt you any more.’ Then she turned round and said, ‘I’d like to go home now.’

Delia nodded and taking her hand, said, ‘Come on then, darling,’ before reaching out her other hand to Daisy and saying, ‘you too, Daisy.’

Delia came in from the day-care centre and dropped into her chair. She was getting older and the days spent with a roomful of toddlers seemed longer and more tiring. Still, this afternoon, Rita was popping in after school for a cup of tea on her way home to David, and Delia was looking forward to seeing her. She’d missed Rita dreadfully since she’d got married and moved into her own home, but Delia knew she was happy, and that was all-important, all she needed to know.

In a minute, she thought, I’ll get things ready, but for a moment I must sit down.

Rita was now the centre of Delia’s life. She had watched her change from an abandoned child alone in the world, into a hard-working teenager, a student, and now a committed teacher. Rita had been courageous as a child, coping with all the unhappiness that the world threw at her, rejection by her mother, Rosie’s adoption, the death of her grandmother. Later she had had to come to terms with the nightmare that was Rosie’s life and her suicide; the dreadful night they’d found her, an empty bottle of sleeping tablets by her bed. Each time Rita had retreated into herself, but in the end, with Delia’s love and support and Daisy’s friendship, Rita had overcome her anguish and moved on with her life. Delia knew Rita would never forget Rosie, but she hoped that Rita had now let her sister linger in the caverns of her mind, remembering her with love, but allowing her to slip into the past.

Life certainly hasn’t been easy since we moved here, Delia thought now as she waited for Rita to arrive. But thank God we did.

Cash had always been very tight, but the two of them had grown ever closer over the years, truly mother and daughter. Rita had left school with excellent exam results, trained as a teacher and now worked in a local primary school. Encouraged by her high school teachers and Delia herself, Rita had continued to write, and in her last year at school she had won a New South Wales short story competition for under eighteens. Since then, in addition to her teaching, she regularly had stories accepted by various magazines, which had helped boost their meagre income. Delia knew it wouldn’t be long before she had to retire from the day-care centre, and she wondered what she’d do with her life then. The boss had promised she could stay in the house, but how would she fill her days?

‘Deeley,’ Rita’s voice broke into her thoughts as she burst in through the front door, and sunshine filled the house. She gave Delia a huge hug and flopped down onto the sofa.

‘Lovely to see you, darling,’ Delia said. ‘Tea?’

‘In a minute,’ replied Rita. ‘I’ve got something to ask you first.’

‘Ask away.’

‘How do you feel about being a grandmother?’

‘What!’ shrieked Delia. ‘Oh, darling, are you sure?’

‘Yup,’ beamed Rita. ‘Just been to the doc. Says I’m about three months.’

Delia found there were tears in her eyes. ‘Oh Rita, that’s wonderful! What does David say?’

‘He doesn’t know yet,’ admitted Rita. ‘I’ll tell him when he gets home tonight.’

‘You should have told him first,’ scolded Delia, though secretly delighted she hadn’t.

‘I know,’ Rita agreed airily, ‘but I’m so excited – I had to tell you.’

‘Well, I’m glad you did,’ Delia admitted, ‘I’m thrilled to bits for you.’

She made a pot of tea and produced a cake she’d made the previous day, and as they sat together in the familiar kitchen, they shared the wonderful news of the baby.

David Harris was over the moon when Rita told him the news. It still seemed a miracle to him that Rita was really his, and now there was going to be a baby as well. Life was so wonderful he wanted to sing, or dance, or both.

He had met Rita in the offices of
The Sophisticate
, a magazine that had been publishing Rita’s stories for some time. He worked in the advertising department, and in what Rita described as ‘true corny style’ one day they had met at the coffee machine.

David had heard of
coup de foudre
and never believed in it, but then it happened to him, a stroke of lightning, blazing through him. He saw a girl with straight dark hair and wide brown eyes standing by the machine, trying to fathom how it worked. He’d asked if he could help, and when she’d turned and smiled at him and said, ‘Oh please, could you? I’ve never used one of these stupid things before,’ he was lost. He didn’t know her name, he didn’t know why she was there, but he did know that she was the woman he wanted and would wait for, however long it took. Rita had seen a good-looking young man, with smiling green eyes and a head of fair curls that sprung in an unruly halo about his face.

It had taken David nearly two years to persuade Rita to marry him. Determined not to scare her away, he was patience itself, wooing her gently, gaining her confidence slowly. As she gradually allowed him closer, occasionally permitting him glimpses of the life she had lived, he realized that she was afraid. Afraid, that if she let herself love him, he would disappear or die, as others had disappeared or died, and she’d be bereft once more. He didn’t rush her, he was simply there, David, strong, firm and comforting, until Rita realized, in quiet surprise, that he was part of the very fabric of her life.

Delia had watched as the friendship that was established blossomed into love. She had seen the depth of David’s love, had seen how gently he’d pursued Rita, for, despite his softly-softly approach, it was pursuit, and she’d waited to see if Rita could respond.

On the day that Rita slipped into his arms, holding up her face to kiss and be kissed, David thought his happiness could know no bounds, and Delia knew she had to let go. She had been Rita’s rock for the past thirteen years, but from now on, it would be David to whom she clung.

When they came to tell her that they were getting married, Delia hugged them both, tears bright in her eyes. ‘I know you’ll make her very happy, David,’ she said, a statement of fact, though both of them knew that it was also a warning. Don’t you dare let my Rita down!

‘I’ll do everything in my power,’ David promised, and as they smiled at each other, they both knew that the pact had been made. Nothing should be allowed to hurt Rita again.

They’d been married, now, for two years. Rita continued to teach at the primary school and to write in her spare time. David had been promoted and now ran the advertising department at
The Sophisticate
.
Their house was a comfortable home, and their lives were busy and fulfilling, but they both wanted a family.

Rita was in the kitchen cooking when David got home. She’d meant to wait until they were having tea before breaking the news, but when he walked in the door, looking hot and tousled, she was overcome with such a surge of love for him that she simply dropped the spoon back in the mixing bowl and ran to him.

‘Are you sure?’ David asked, not daring to believe the amazing news she’d just whispered into his ear. ‘Sit down, put your feet up. I’ll cook tea.’ He took her arm, leading her to a chair in the living room. She laughed and hugged him.

‘Darling, I’m not ill. I’m perfectly capable of cooking your tea.’

‘I know, I know,’ he said. ‘But you mustn’t get tired.’

She submitted to his demand that he should finish the cooking, but sat in the kitchen to watch him.

As they ate their meal, they talked about the baby, and the wonderful fact that they would soon be a family.

‘Do you want a boy or a girl?’ Rita asked him.

‘Both,’ replied David promptly.

Rita laughed. ‘Well, I hope it’s not twins. I think one baby’ll be quite enough to start with, don’t you? So, son or daughter?’