Page 17 of Darling Girls

‘Laundry?’ she suggested.

Miss Fairchild smiled. ‘That would be wonderful.’

‘But that’s my job,’ Jessica protested, tugging at her foster mother’s skirt.

Miss Fairchild ignored her.

‘Do we have a bedtime?’ Norah asked.

This tended to vary wildly from place to place. At one foster home, she’d been put to bed at 6 pm, along with the toddlers and babies, so her foster parents could drink beer. At another, she’d been left to her own devices and put herself to bed whenever she was tired.

‘How about eight o’clock? You can sleep in the bedroom opposite mine. Jessica will make up the beds for you both.’

Jessica looked surprised. Actually, she lookedappalled.

‘Come now, Jessica,’ Miss Fairchild said, ‘you can’t sleep in my bed forever. Of course, ifyouare scared during the night, Norah, you’re welcome to come into my bed. You’re in a new environment.’

‘Mummy –’ Jessica started.

‘Enough!’ Miss Fairchild’s reaction was so swift even Norah was startled. She gripped Jessica’s arms just above the elbow, tightly enough to lift Jessica’s heels. Her face became as white as chalk. ‘It’s not just the two of us anymore, Jessica. The sooner you understand that, the better.’ Miss Fairchild’s fingernails were digging into Jessica’s skin. Their faces were almost touching. ‘And enough of this “Mummy” nonsense. From now on, you’re to call me Miss Fairchild.’

When she finally let go, there were marks on Jessica’s arms and she was blinking back tears.

‘Right,’ Miss Fairchild said, her smile returning. Her eyes, Norah noticed now, weren’t like Barbie’s. Rather than being startled-looking, this woman’s eyes were sharp.Knowing. ‘I’ll get you some fresh sheets and towels.’

With that she disappeared, leaving Norah and Jessica blinking in her wake. It wasn’t the outburst that unsettled Norah; she’d seen plenty worse. The speed of her recovery, though, complete with a fresh maniacal smile – that was new. Norah didn’t like new.

‘You’d better not go into her room,’ Jessica said softly, not looking at Norah.

‘I won’t,’ Norah said.

She wasn’t trying to make peace. It was simply that the idea of visiting that woman’s bed in the middle of the night was infinitely scarier than any nightmare Norah might be trying to escape.

At her first foster home, Norah had received a fist in the stomach before she’d even made it in the door. She’d just climbed out of the social worker’s car and was standing on the nature strip when the boy approached from behind. She was six, the boy was thirteen.

She didn’t see it coming. One minute she was standing there, the next she was doubled over, struggling for breath. Her case worker, who’d been fetching her garbage bag from the boot, scolded the boy, demanding to know why he’d done it.

‘Because she’s new,’ he said. His tone saidduh.

Norah hadn’t understood at the time, but she soon did. She even came to appreciate it. A swift punch was akin to an orientation. It taught you who was in charge, who to look out for and where you stood.

Before long, Norah had learned to brace for the first punch. Not long after that, she learned to throw it.

It vexed Norah that the rest of the world didn’t operate this way. It would have been useful, for example, if Miss Fairchild had given her a swift punch that first day. At least then she would’ve known what was coming.

At bedtime, Jessica used the bathroom first, then Norah. Jessica explained this to Norah as if it were very important. When Norah was finished, she returned to find the room in darkness.

She stopped in the doorway. The bedroom had a sloping ceiling and a dormer window and the blind was drawn. Once the door was closed, it would be hard to see anything at all. Norah had never liked darkness. She had a dim memory of having been blindfolded once. The details were hazy, but she remembered laughter (someone else’s) . . . and terror (her own). Years later, even though she understood she wasn’t in danger, her body didn’t seem to care. It still heard the laughter and felt the terror.

‘I put your clothes away,’ Jessica said. She was already in one of the wrought-iron twin beds; in the darkness Norah could see the S-shaped mound under the covers. ‘I think you’ll find the system makes sense. Undies in the top drawer, then tops and jumpers, then pants. Dresses are in the wardrobe.’

‘Thanks,’ Norah said. If the exacting way Jessica lined up her things on her dresser was any measure of the way she did things – everything at right angles and organised by like (hair care, dental care etc.) – Norah assumed she would have done a reasonable job of it.

‘Are you going to come in?’ Jessica asked.

Norah didn’t move. Her heels dug into the floorboards, as if someone was preparing to push her inside.

She was still standing that way when Miss Fairchild appeared a moment later. She was wearing the pink dress from earlier but the lipstick and eyeshadow had been washed off and her face looked like a blank, creamy moon. ‘Is everything all right, Norah?’