The Girl in the Mirror(67)

He kisses me.

For seven months, Adam hasn’t kissed me, but now he kisses me as though our children are not in the room, as though no one else exists in the world. His lips are firm, and they push against mine as though he’s thirsting for me.

“It’s like kissing the night sky,” he whispers. “Thank you so much for giving me our daughter.”

Now we’re both laughing because Tarq is wriggling his way between us, determined not to be left out of the family hug. He pokes my jelly-soft belly with his little paw. “Baby’s out,” he says. “Baby’s out again.”

“And Tarq’s suddenly talking.” I smile at Adam. “Isn’t it great? It’s like everything’s coming together.”

Adam nods, gives me one more fervent kiss and hurries away. Like kissing the night sky. I thought Summer’s stories about Adam’s romantic speeches were fantasies, but perhaps I haven’t been doing the things, the Summer-ish things, that got him in the mood. Until now. I roll his words and his kisses around my memory.

But it’s typical Adam, wandering off and leaving Tarq here. I want to call after him, but he’ll be out of earshot. The birth was straightforward, but I can barely get out of bed. What’ll I do if the kid decides to do a runner?

Luckily, Tarq is all snuggly and soft, and he pushes his head under the blankets, as though he wants to be a baby again himself. “Put baby back in,” he says.

“You funny thing,” I say. “How sweet it is to hear your thoughts at last. Babies can’t go back in.”

On the white hospital sheet, there are smears of orange. No one’s washed Tarquin’s hands since last night, when he spattered tandoori chicken all over the carpet while Esther began her dramatic entrance into the world. What had he said? Snap snap snap. Crockie eat a birdie.

What was he talking about? Crockie. He must mean crocodile. It’s as though he knows the story about Ridge throwing a live chicken to the crocodiles at Carmichael Bridge. Could Annabeth have told him about it? It isn’t the sort of story she would repeat.

It’s possible that Summer told him the story or even did the same thing herself with Tarquin in tow. It’s not everybody’s idea of family fun, but I can’t think of any other explanation. Was Summer crazy enough over the crocodile-versus-chicken thing to have reenacted it in front of her own kid? This would have had to have happened a year ago, before they left Australia to go sailing. Could Tarquin remember that far back? He was a baby the last time he saw the real Summer. Surely he can’t remember.

I’ve been assuming that Tarquin’s memories of Summer are all tangled up with his memories of me, that it’s all a babyish blur. I thought when he finally did learn to speak, he would only talk about the present. Surely he can’t dredge up the past.

Perhaps Adam took Tarquin to the bridge recently. Perhaps they swung by on their way home from day care, and Adam forgot to tell me. And Adam happened to have a live chicken on hand? No way.

They must have just talked about it. It’s a gruesome enough story to stick in a kid’s mind.

“Tarq,” I say, “did you see the crocodiles eat a birdie?”

“Snap snap snap,” says Tarquin. He writhes like a little lizard.

“Tarq,” I say, “I need to know. Did Daddy take you to the bridge to see crocodiles? Did you see crockies?”

Tarquin’s mouth clamps shut, and he stares up at me with big eyes. Has my urgent tone scared him? I force myself to take a breath. I rub his little back. If I want to get the truth out of him, I need to take it slow.

The door opens and Adam saunters back in. “So sorry, leaving you with both kids,” he says with a grin. He scoops Tarquin up, and they’re gone.

But not before I’ve seen that look in Tarquin’s eyes again. You’re not my mummy. This time there’s no mistake. He knows. He remembers. And it’s only a matter of time before he makes himself understood.



We don’t announce Esther’s birth online; I don’t text anyone. I can’t face the deluge of Summer’s bosom buddies. I have to let Annabeth visit again at some stage, and Adam’s parents will want to fly up from Sydney, but that will be all. I always imagined I would invite Francine, to watch her trying to hide her gall, but I’ve moved past that now. She embarrassed herself enough yesterday.

Adam drops by in the early afternoon with a new form for me to sign. He’s going straight from the registry office to Carmichael Brothers to sort out the paperwork. Annabeth is looking after Tarquin. Esther sleeps the day away like a dream of a baby. Although she’s tiny, there is a satisfying weight to her in my arms. She’s cozy and downy and soft. Her eyes are so pretty, I’m impatient for her to wake up.

In the meantime I craft an email to Ben, typing one-handed on my phone while I cradle Esther. It takes me a long time because I don’t know how to talk to him as Summer. I try chatty, earnest, teasing, but I can’t strike the right tone. The email I would write, if I could be myself, somehow appears on my screen.

The sprog is out, and she’s gorgeous! You’re an uncle! Come home and see me. Can’t wait to tell you all the news!

I hold down the delete key until it’s gone. Ben would instantly know this came from Iris, and of course I can’t risk inviting him to see me. How should Summer phrase the news? Since that first dispassionate message from him when I was in the Seychelles, I haven’t spoken to my brother, and there have only been a few brief emails, which I haven’t replied to.