The Family Next Door(46)

29


ISABELLE


“Melbourne’s great,” Isabelle said into the phone.

Jules clicked his tongue. She could sense his skepticism, even over the phone.

“Really,” she insisted. “You should come down here sometime.”

She pictured him, stretched out in the window seat of his Sydney apartment, staring out over the waves. One of the few things his 1960s brown brick building had going for it was its killer view of Bondi Beach. It had always struck her as ironic, as he must have been the only guy in Bondi who didn’t surf, preferring leather over wet suits and motorbikes over surfboards. Isabelle was the same, really—she loved the gorgeous Sydney beaches, but she wasn’t one to lie around on the beach, sunbathing or swimming. In fact, it was fair to say that Isabelle and Jules resembled Melbourne people rather than Sydney people, with their love for the music scene, art galleries, and coffee. (Melbourne took its coffee seriously. The other day, Isabelle had noticed a “deconstructed coffee” on the menu at a local café, and deduced that it was a coffee served on a paddle in three separate cups—one with espresso, one with milk, and one with water. It was, perhaps, a little ridiculous, but she suspected Jules might actually like it.) She opened her mouth again, to try and convince him of this, but he got in first.

“I could come on the motorbike,” he said.

Isabelle smiled. “That would be nice.”

“So are you causing quite a stir down there in Melbourne?”

“Of course not,” she said, though Isabelle suspected that was exactly what she was doing. Her being there was obviously causing trouble between Ben and Essie, and Ange had discovered she wasn’t working for the Abigail Ferris Foundation. The truth was she’d never worked for the Abigail Ferris Foundation even though she’d had a lot to do with it. After Sophie was taken, they’d provided her with support as well as a few leads that didn’t pan out—the most interesting one about a young woman who had given birth to a stillborn the day Sophie was taken, but who had never filled out any paperwork as labor had come on to fast. Then, she’d disappeared from the hospital again and no one had any record of her. Isabelle had searched far and wide. She’d scrolled through birth announcements and tried to find the details of people in the area who’d had baby girls around that time. All roads had lead to nowhere. Until now.

“Listen, babe, I have to go, I’m actually in the middle of something. Can we talk more later?”

She hung up the phone and looked at the table in front of her, cautioning herself against excitement. She’d gotten to this point before, after all, only for it all to turn out to be a false alarm. That had been crueler, in a way, than losing Sophie in the first place. But this time would be different, she knew it. This time, instead of going in half-cocked, she was going to be thorough.

She took a deep breath. Go on, she told herself. Get on with it.

Her hands shook as she reached for a piece of white paper. She lay six or seven reddish-brown hairs across it. She’d managed to pluck them from Mia’s hair elastic while playing in the garden today. Hair wasn’t the most accurate DNA to test, but short of holding the child down and swabbing her cheek with a cotton tip, it was the best she could do. About four of the hairs contained the root, and Isabelle prayed it would be enough. In her drawer she had two envelopes, both of which had been provided by the DNA testing company. One should contain Mia’s DNA and the other, hers. She got out the instructions for her cheek swab and began to read. She wouldn’t make any mistakes. She couldn’t.

Once she’d mailed off the test, it would take seven days to get results. Seven days was so fast. Seven days was a lifetime.

In seven days, Isabelle would have her answer.

In seven days, she’d be taking back what she’d lost.





30


ANGE


Ange was making dinner, like she always did. An hour ago Will and Ollie had gotten home from their friends’ house and Ange relented when they begged for a milk shake, like she always did. Then she yelled at them for leaving their stuff all over the floor and told them she’d be telling their father when he got home. Like she always did. There had been no tears, or anger, or bargaining. She was doing everything as she always did, even though everything was different.

Lucas had another family.

The words had pinballed around in her head all afternoon, yet she still couldn’t make sense of them. It was as though someone had told her she lived on Mars rather than Earth—it was curious, mind-blowing even, but the ramifications remained unclear. For now, she was merely hunkering down, waiting for more information.

Lucas had another family.

Ange turned on the oven and caught at her reflection in the glass. Her mother’s reflection stared back at her. Bitter, detached, and a little crazy. Ange had a sudden, sharp yearning for her. Her mother had been dead almost twenty years, and for the ten years before that she’d been virtually dead, just sitting on the couch watching Oprah and ranting at Ange that she must never let a man have control over her happiness. Now, she heard her mother’s voice in her head: They’re all the same. Ange longed to fall into the recliner beside her mother and say, “I should have listened to you, you bitter old goat. As it turns out, you were quite right.”

Keys jangled in the door.