Page 10 of Darling Girls

Jessica’s instinct was to agree. Yes. That was very lucky.

‘She’s a single woman who doesn’t have any children of her own. She lives on a country estate called Wild Meadows with horses and a swimming pool!’

Her social worker’s eyes popped, like Jessica had won a prize. Jessica remembered conjuring up a smile. She didn’t want to disappoint him. And she didn’t want to be sad, in case she died.

When she arrived at Wild Meadows later that day, Jessica smiled again – and not just because she didn’t want to disappoint Scott. The house looked like something out of a storybook. A classic white weatherboard farmhouse with shutters and a wide porch, overlooking the pastures and stables, complete with a huge swimming pool. Still, despite its grandeur, she felt a pang of longing for her mother and the cosy little apartment they had shared.

‘I’m going to livehere?’ she said.

‘Lucky, eh?’ Scott said, using that word again.

It prompted Jessica to reframe it in her mind. In the past, she’d thought being lucky was an unequivocally good thing. But there was another side to it, she realised. If you were lucky, it implied that your good fortune hadn’t been earned. You couldn’t question it, or take it for granted. You had to begrateful. Because what had been given to you could just as easily be taken away.

The woman standing on the porch looked like a fairy princess. She had wavy golden hair, blue eyes and wore a white dress covered in tiny blue flowers. Her feet were bare and she smelledof flowers.

‘Darling girl,’ she said, squatting down. ‘My name is Miss Fairchild.’

To Jessica’s surprise, the woman wrapped her arms around her. It was the first time someone had hugged Jessica since her mother died. It brought tears to her eyes. When she pulled back, the woman saw her tears. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I miss my mummy.’

‘I know, poppet,’ Miss Fairchild said, kissing each of Jessica’s eyelids. Her voice was as sweet as honey. ‘But I promise I’m going to make everything better.’

‘You are?’

Jessica felt an agonising burst of optimism. No one – not the daycare teacher, the police officer or the social worker – had said that to her. Maybe this womancouldmake everything better? Maybe she could bring her mother back and make everything okay again?

Miss Fairchild beamed. ‘I’m going to make you forget all about your mummy,’ she said. ‘Wait and see. Before long, you’ll forget she ever existed.’

Miss Fairchild blasted into Jessica’s world with everything a four-year-old girl needed. Love, security, devotion. Grand gestures, like allowing her to paint her room pink with purple stripes, and small gestures, like leaving tiny letters in envelopes from the tooth fairy. It was hard not to be swept up in it. Jessica didn’t try. After all, she waslucky.

She didn’t let Miss Fairchild out of her sight. If Miss Fairchild was raking the leaves, Jessica was too. If Miss Fairchild was running errands or cleaning the house or going to the bathroom, Jessica was by her side. Miss Fairchild used to joke that the only time they were apart was when Jessica was sleeping, but even that wasn’t true, because most nights Jessica crept across the hall into Miss Fairchild’s room, climbed into her bed and snuggled up close to her.

Miss Fairchild didn’t seem to mind Jessica’s clinginess. If anything, she encouraged it. She even dressed them alike. ‘So we look like mother and daughter,’ she explained, even though the dresses were the only similarity between them. Miss Fairchild’s hair was as golden and curly as Jessica’s was dark and pin-straight; her eyes were as blue as Jessica’s were brown.

‘That child’s feet haven’t touched the ground since she arrived,’ people around town said. Or, worse, ‘You baby her,’ when Miss Fairchild pushed her along the main street in a stroller that she was too big for. Jessica always wanted to tell them to mind their own business. She loved that stroller, loved being held on Miss Fairchild’s hip or sitting in the antique highchair in the kitchen while Miss Fairchild fed her. It made her feel safe. But if Jessica worried that Miss Fairchild might change her behaviour in response to people’s comments, she needn’t have. If anything, it made Miss Fairchild more determined.

‘Darling girl,’ she’d say, ‘I didn’t get to push you or hold you or feed you when you were a baby, so this is our time with each other, and no one is going to take it away from us.’

It was exactly what Jessica needed. She had only had one thing to offer in exchange, and she gave it freely: her utter devotion.

‘A party fit for a princess,’ Miss Fairchild said.

It was Jessica’s fifth birthday and she was dressed in a pink tutu, with pink lipstick and a pink tiara. Miss Fairchild wore a pink sleeveless dress with a drop waist and a ruffled skirt that she’d made on her sewing machine. In the past few months, Jessica had become accustomed to feeling excited whenever she heard whirring in the kitchen.

The party was held in the garden. The porch was filled with pink balloons, the trestle tables were draped in pink tablecloths, and the napkins, the cake, the piñata and the goodie bags were all pink. Pink was Miss Fairchild’s favourite colour – which made it Jessica’s too.

Miss Fairchild had invited all the local kids, most of whom Jessica hadn’t met before. Several of them tried to play with her, but Jessica felt shy, preferring to stay wrapped in the folds of Miss Fairchild’s pink skirt instead. Jessica was grateful for the party, as she was grateful for everything Miss Fairchild did for her. But she preferred it when it was just the two of them, cleaning and organising the house.

At the end of the afternoon, everyone lined up to thank Miss Fairchild for the lovely party.

‘Anything for my darling girl,’ Miss Fairchild told them.

That night, as they lay in bed, Jessica whispered to her, ‘I wish I was really your girl.’

She was unable to look at Miss Fairchild when she said it. As close as they were, as much as Miss Fairchild doted on her, Jessica understood the tenuous nature of their relationship. Miss Fairchild wasn’t her mother. There was no permanent agreement. It troubled Jessica, and she knew it troubled Miss Fairchild.

‘We could pretend,’ Miss Fairchild said. ‘Why don’t you call me Mummy?’