Page 12 of Darling Girls

‘Bonnie?’ Miss Fairchild stood up straight. Blinked. ‘How wonderful.’

Jessica slid her hand into Miss Fairchild’s, ready to answer all her questions and describe every minute of her day. But she didn’t say another word. Didn’t ask a single question about school. They walked the entire forty-five minutes home in silence.

That afternoon, Miss Fairchild suggested a swim.

‘No,’ Jessica said. She had a fear of swimming. Jessica had a fear of most things she didn’t know how to do. She’d been in the pool just a handful of times, and only under duress while wearing her float. Each time, Miss Fairchild had said, ‘Next time, no float, okay?’

‘Come on, you have to learn to swim sometime,’ she cajoled. ‘Everyone else at school will be able to swim. You don’t want to be the only one who can’t, do you?’

It was a smart strategy. Jessica wanted to fit in. She certainly didn’t want to be the only one who couldn’t do something. More importantly, she wanted to please Miss Fairchild.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘But I want to wear my float.’

Miss Fairchild agreed, but filled the float with so little air that Jessica doubted it would be very helpful.

‘It needs more air!’ Jessica whined.

But Miss Fairchild was firm. ‘I’ll keep you afloat. You trust me, don’t you?’

Jessica nodded, but on the edge of the pool she hesitated.

‘Come on,’ Miss Fairchild said, her arms outstretched. ‘It’ll be Christmas soon.’

Jessica jumped. She broke through the water’s surface and into the thick, aquamarine silence. It seemed to take forever for her to rise to the top. Panic set in quickly and intensely. Through the water she could see Miss Fairchild’s pale skinny legs and navy one-piece swimsuit with the frill. She thrashed her arms wildly, trying to propel herself over to her mother. And it worked – she was getting closer. But just as Jessica reached out for her, the last of her breath disappearing from her chest, Miss Fairchildstepped away.

Jessica thrashed her arms harder. Each time she got close, Miss Fairchild retreated.

It went on and on. Jessica began to feel light-headed. Her panic started to slide into something blacker. Her arms stopped thrashing. Her lungs filled. And then . . . she broke through the water’s surface.

‘You did it!’ Miss Fairchild was holding her, smiling brightly, beads of water sparkling on her forehead.

Jessica coughed, then vomited – once and then again. When she was finally able to drag in a breath, she rested her head against Mummy’s chest.

‘You swam, darling girl,’ Miss Fairchild said.

‘The float didn’t work,’ Jessica told her when she could finally talk, still gasping for air between words.

‘No,’ Miss Fairchild agreed. ‘Floats can let you down. So can people. But Mummy will never let anything happen to you.’

Jessica coughed up some more water.

‘You can’t rely on anyone or anything except Mummy.’

Jessica was too tired to reply, so she just clung to her mother’s neck. Judging by Miss Fairchild’s smile, it was a good enough response.

The months went by, and Jessica’s world became smaller. There were no playdates, no parties, no visitors to Wild Meadows other than the postman. Apart from at school, Jessica didn’t see anyone other than Miss Fairchild. Slowly, Miss Fairchild became Jessica’s entire universe.

Jessica became intimately attuned to her moods. She learned how to please her, how to charm her, how to soothe her. She knew when it was a good time to ask for something, and when to accept that all was lost. Miss Fairchild was the centre of her life, her everything. And if she kept it this way, she’d be rewarded with love, which was all Jessica wanted.

They had a strict routine at Wild Meadows. It involved a great deal of cleaning. Each morning after they woke they made the beds, wiped down the bathroom sinks and mirrors, and carried the laundry downstairs. Then they swept the porch and path, dusted and hoovered and polished, all before breakfast. Only when the laundry had been put on could they start to think about breakfast.

‘You are the best helper, darling girl,’ Miss Fairchild always said.

Jessica was always quick to jump up after breakfast to wash, dry and put away the dishes. (Miss Fairchild didn’t like dishes being left to dry in the rack.) After that, they hung out the laundry, which was brought in, folded and put away as soon as it had dried. Any rooms that weren’t used in the course of the day were cleaned in the afternoon before dinner.

By the time Jessica was eight, she could clean Wild Meadows from top to bottom single-handedly. It wasn’t a chore. Their cleaning routine gave her a sense of purpose that was hard to describe.

If Jessica’s purpose was cleaning, Miss Fairchild’s was balancing the books. She was obsessed with it.