The Family Next Door(76)

The hospital had taken a cheek swab from Barbara while she was unconscious, and obviously one had been taken from Essie and Isabelle as well because she’d been told they had conclusive evidence: Essie could not be her daughter. Barbara’s reaction, possibly because of the antipsychotic drugs she’d be given, had been anticlimactic. She didn’t gasp or scream or beg for another result. She was too bewildered to do any of those things. But the idea that Essie wasn’t hers didn’t compute. It was as though she’d been told her right arm actually belonged to another person.

Barbara had been in and out of sleep since regaining consciousness. But during her every waking minute, she thought about Essie. So when there was a knock at the door, Barbara’s heart leapt. As gently as she could, she swiveled her head so she was facing the door. But it wasn’t Essie standing there.

It was Isabelle.

“I just want to talk to you,” Isabelle said.

Barbara had expected the visit. Perhaps not quite so soon, but she’d expected it. For some reason, perhaps the medication, she felt oddly numb. “I suppose you want to tell me what you think of me. Go ahead. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to say.”

“I thought I would have plenty to say. But as it turns out … I don’t.”

They watched each other, sizing each other up. Isabelle looked like Essie, Barbara realized. Had she always? Or was she projecting it now that she knew the truth? Certainly, looking at her now, it seemed impossible that Barbara hadn’t noticed the moment Isabelle arrived in Pleasant Court.

“Have you seen Essie?” Barbara asked.

“Yes.”

“Is she all right?”

Isabelle gave a wide-eyed shrug that demonstrated the ridiculousness of the question, and Barbara felt foolish. Of course she wasn’t all right. How did anyone process the fact that their mother wasn’t their mother? That they were kidnapped as a baby?

Isabelle stood across the room, still in the doorway. She seemed to have run out of things to say, and Barbara didn’t know what to say to her. There was no apology or explanation that wouldn’t feel useless and inadequate. “I’m on some quite strong medication so I’m not sure that I can do this justice, but for what it’s worth, I am sorry for the trauma I caused you and your family.”

Isabelle shrugged again. The last time Barbara had seen her she’d had so much to say, but today she seemed lost. Or perhaps torn was a better word. It was as if she had no idea what she’d come here for.

“Obviously it’s not enough but … maybe … photo albums from when Essie was a child? Or mementos? I still have every one of her baby teeth. And videos of her ballet concerts! Actually, I have videos of most of her birthdays—”

“You were obviously a good mother, Barbara.”

Barbara blinked in surprise. “Well,” she said, “I don’t know—”

“You were. Essie told me you were.”

Isabelle swayed back and forth on the spot. It had been a full-on few days for her, clearly. Barbara wished she were feeling better, so she could make the girl a cup of tea and give her a biscuit.

“How are you doing?” Barbara asked.

Isabelle tossed the question around for a few moments. “I’m … happy to have my sister back.”

“And your family. How are they?”

“They’re shocked. Overwhelmed. My dad and my brother are in Melbourne now, actually.”

“They are?” Barbara was about to ask why, but of course, she was being dim-witted. Of course they were in Melbourne. They were coming to see Essie.

Isabelle still hadn’t moved from the doorway. “I want to ask you something, Barbara.”

Barbara steeled herself. Here it came.

“What did you know?”

Barbara exhaled. “I didn’t know anything.”

Isabelle watched her with a gaze that wasn’t angry or even judgmental. She was assessing her, wondering whether she could be trusted.

“Maybe,” Isabelle said.

Barbara opened her mouth to respond but by the time she did Isabelle had already walked out the door.





64


ISABELLE


“Jules?”

Isabelle slammed the front door. She’d had to concentrate on not speeding home from the hospital. It wasn’t that she wanted to get away so much as she suddenly—desperately—wanted to get home.

“In here,” he called.

Isabelle had expected to feel angry after seeing Barbara, but she didn’t. She didn’t believe that Barbara knew nothing, but she also wasn’t sure Barbara was the monster she’d drawn in her mind for years either. The fact was, nothing about finding Sophie had been the way she had expected—least of all, the way she felt now. Free.

And determined.

Jules was at the dining table, bent over his computer, but when she entered the room he glanced up. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she said. “You like coffee, right? Good coffee, I mean. Pretentious coffee. Deconstructed lattes, that sort of thing.”

Julian sat back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. “Who doesn’t love a pretentious coffee?”

“And art. And live music, you love live music.”

He opened his mouth.

“And little laneways with secret doorways leading to wonderful restaurants? Winters that are actually cold? The Great Ocean Road?”