The Stolen, page 10
I saw them in the street today,
The mother and the daughter—
Clinging together in their grief—
Over their missing boy.
We slowly drove past them—
And I ducked my head;
Their sorrow too profound
For mere mortals.
We passed the school, where children go
And Baby will go there—
When he is grown and happier;
After he forgets her.
In our back seat,
Tucked away—
Sleeps their hearts’ desire
They can’t have him so we can.
We drove past the gate
To the house where he won’t live.
One loses so the other wins.
The victor thinks it’s fair.
Love grows so quickly
For the baby boy
We will call him by a different name
And that will make him ours.
CHAPTER 14
MUM’S TALE
I was so glad to be home. Some days are just too full. Waffles didn’t come when I pulled up to the gate. Not surprising since Mum was probably spoiling him rotten. I hadn’t heard from her since her message this morning updating me on Amanda, but I knew she had planned to collect Nan from the nursing home and bring her back for the day. And then she was going to talk to us. Whatever it was that she needed to tell us momentarily took my mind off Maddy and her missing baby as I drove up the long winding driveway to the house. Mum’s car was parked near the front door and I pulled up behind her. Once I was on the porch, I could hear the mad scrambling of paws and claws on the other side of the door. Waffles. My heart lifted at the thought of him.
When I opened the door, Waffles did his usual dance of delight. His tail wagged like a windscreen wiper, his nose nudging my hands as I bent to give him a pat.
‘Who’s a good boy?’ If it was possible for a dog to smile, Waffles was smiling, mouth open, tongue hanging out. I lifted my head and called down the hallway. ‘I’m home!’ It was a nice feeling coming home to family. With a pang, I realised how much I missed it. Two voices called out ‘hello’—Mum’s voice strong, Nan’s frail.
‘Come on,’ I said to Waffles, and we took off down the hall to greet my family.
Mum was in the kitchen and, from the smell, I guessed roast lamb was on the menu. Nan beamed from her armchair.
‘Any news on the baby?’ said Mum by way of greeting.
‘Not yet.’ I leaned down to give Nan a hug. When I straightened, I tried to stretch the day out of my back. ‘We’re doing line searches at all the locations where Josh photographed the baby. But our best hope is that someone took the little one and is looking after him. It’s the only chance he has of survival.’
‘That poor mother,’ said Nan sadly.
I thought of Maddy. There was a torturous canyon between the missing and the dead. As a cop, I’d seen it plenty of times. You can’t give up hope because hope is all you have, and you can’t grieve because to grieve would be to admit loss. It’s like living on a knife’s edge. And each day it gets worse.
‘Any more news on Amanda?’ Mum put three plates on the bench.
I moved around to help her serve. ‘I called the hospital for an update before I left. They’ve operated on her leg and there’s some swelling on the brain so they’re keeping her sedated for the time being.’
‘She’s in the best place,’ said Mum, diplomatically non-committal. Doctor-speak. I knew it well.
We carried the plates to the table. If there’s anything nicer than a roast that someone else has cooked for you, I don’t know what it is. Crisp baked potatoes, roast pumpkin, cauliflower in cheese sauce, lamb, gravy, peas and corn—the favourite dinner of generations of Pollards.
Nan and I were silent as we settled at the dining table. It was like we both sensed that Mum would start telling us whatever she had to tell us in her own time. She raised a glass and made a toast to family. We clinked glasses and began the meal. Talk meandered through the weather, the investigation, the farm, Waffles and any other topic that wasn’t the one she’d come to talk to us about. When we’d all finally finished eating, Mum took a deep breath then let it out slowly.
I glanced at Nan. She looked worried.
Mum began. ‘I found out something recently that has’—she paused, looking uncharacteristically vulnerable—‘quite frankly, knocked me for six.’
Nan patted her hand. ‘It’s okay, love. You can tell us anything.’
Mum nodded and her eyes welled with tears. ‘Antigone, I’ve never told you this, but five years before I had you, I got pregnant. Mum knew at the time.’
Nan nodded sadly.
What! My mind raced. Do I have a sibling?
Mum continued. ‘I was at uni, studying medicine, and got pregnant to …’ She hesitated, then shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter who. What matters is that I quickly found myself knocked up and having to make some hard decisions.’
I gave a small smile. Mum never minced words. I knew that she had found herself in a similar position when she got pregnant with me. She never kept it from me. Once the test came back positive, she decided that she wanted to be a mother and she would do it on her own. Who my father was remained a mystery, one that every now and again, I would like to have solved. Just for curiosity’s sake, not for any need of a father. You can’t miss what you never had.
‘Just like with you, Antigone,’ she continued, ‘I decided I would keep the baby. There was a creche cooperative at uni and I knew I could manage. I saw a doctor a couple of times in Melbourne and everything was fine. When you’re that age, you see yourself as this fertile goddess and never imagine anything could go wrong.’ Mum shrugged. The years had clearly taught her otherwise. ‘When my due date got closer, I had one last party with a bunch of friends, then I hopped in the car to drive back here.’
Nan nodded. ‘We were very excited. Any baby in the family is a gift.’
Mum looked down at the table. ‘On the drive home, I started having the worst pains imaginable. I got as far as Bellanook. They had a hospital there and I walked in the front doors and told them I was in labour. You know you’ve left the city when the nurses start calling you an “unwed mother” and ask if you’re giving up the baby for adoption.’
‘No way!’ I said.
‘Oh yes,’ said Mum. ‘The 1980s were just as judgy as the 60s and a young woman on her own was fair game.’
‘Bloody hell,’ I said before addressing the elephant in the room. ‘So … you had a baby?’
Mum looked up and spoke in a low voice. ‘The baby died at birth.’
I felt an unbelievable wave of sadness for my mum, and for the brother or sister I’d lost all those years ago.
Nan held Mum’s hand. She was proud of her independent daughter. While Nan’s life had been straight out of a 1950s good wife handbook, her daughter had been able to make very different choices.
‘But here’s the thing—I recently found out the hospital where I gave birth is about to be exposed for corrupt practices, including selling babies. It’s become an open secret in medical circles because questions are being asked behind the scenes. That’s how I found out.’
‘What?’ I said. ‘So … you think …’ I stopped, trying to get my head around what Mum was saying. Daughter mode stepped back and detective mode tag-teamed in. ‘Did you see your baby at delivery?’
Mum shook her head. ‘The baby was born. They said it died straight afterwards. I asked to see it then they gave me an injection that knocked me out. I just … I just believed them.’
I pictured my mum, a young uni student with very little life experience, surrounded by nurses and doctors, all alone in the hospital.
‘When the rumours started to fly recently, I checked Public Records for a death certificate for my baby. There was nothing.’
Mum turned to me before continuing. ‘I need your help.’
Mum had never asked for my help before. She was a veritable beacon of independence, never needing anything from anyone. And yet here we were.
‘What have you discovered so far?’ I asked, knowing she would have looked into it.
‘It all came to light when a woman in Melbourne did one of those online DNA tests. She matched with a whole bunch of people she’d never heard of. Turns out, she had four siblings living in Bellanook. The woman’s existence came as a surprise to her biological parents because they’d been told their firstborn had died. They were in their late teens when she’d been born. Unmarried. Too shocked and vulnerable to ask questions.’
‘And I’m guessing other cases have come to light?’
‘Four other cases.’ Mum looked stricken. ‘There’s no death certificate for my baby so a reasonable conclusion is that the same thing happened to me.’
‘What about a birth certificate?’ Nan asked. ‘Do babies that don’t survive get birth certificates?’
Mum and I both said yes at the same time. Then Mum continued. ‘Any baby born after twenty weeks’ gestation gets a birth certificate. But the hospital doesn’t apply for it. They give you the forms to fill out yourself. I remember filling them out for you, Antigone, and then the hospital sent them off. But the hospital at Bellanook didn’t give me any forms.’ Mum paused and I pictured her alone and distraught in the little country hospital. I imagine forms were the last thing on her mind.
Mum sat back a little. ‘I suspect that the birth wasn’t registered and therefore legally didn’t occur.’
‘Or,’ I said, ‘an alternative birth certificate could have been issued in the name of the parents receiving the baby. If you’re in the business of stealing babies, you’re not going to stop at applying for a fraudulent birth certificate.’
I was long overdue for a cup of tea and I suspected Mum and Nan were too. I got up from the table and put the kettle on. In the momentary quiet of the cool summer’s night, the call of cicadas reached inside the house. I scooped spoons of tea into Nan’s old aluminium teapot; her beautiful China one had been destroyed by a violent man in a home invasion a couple of months earlier. The kettle came to a boil and I poured the bubbling, steaming water over the tea leaves. ‘How do you think they did it?’
Mum sighed. ‘I’ve seen it hundreds of times in my career—you get one bad doctor who’s entitled or self-righteous or charismatic and a couple of fawning medical staff who buy into whatever crap that doctor is selling.’
We drank tea and talked about stolen babies until the room cooled and Mum lit the fire. By the time we were on our second cup of tea, I had ordered an online DNA testing kit, just in case my sibling had survived to adulthood and had done a test as well. Mum offered to take the test, but I said I’d do it for us. I didn’t tell her but I wondered if my father might have taken a test too.
Nan spoke, her voice soft and full of emotion. ‘Was it a boy or a girl?’
Mum shook her head sadly. ‘They never told me.’
Nan’s eyes widened. ‘You know what next week is? The twenty-first of January?’
Mum’s nod was barely discernible. ‘I always thought it was my baby’s death-day … but now I can’t help but think …’ She stopped.
Nan finished the sentence. ‘It could be their birthday.’
THE DREW NAYLE SHOW, THREE TRIPLE P
Wednesday, 15 January
Drew Nayle: Yesterday morning we heard from Lincoln Steele reporting on the terrible situation playing out in the small coastal town of Deception Bay. On Monday, unemployed single mother Maddy Muir reported her baby missing. And then we all watched the tragedy unfold where the young father of the child—the non-custodial father kicked out by Maddy—died in a car crash that may or may not have been an accident. Police media are not commenting on that one, listeners. We have Lincoln Steele reporting from Deception Bay. What’s the latest, Lincoln?
Lincoln Steele: Good morning, Drew. We’ve been speaking to locals and monitoring this story very closely.
Drew Nayle: Any sign of the baby?
Lincoln Steele: Nothing yet, Drew, but intense searches are taking place around town. Members of the SES are everywhere. Locals are out helping. And the ladies from the CWA are providing cups of tea and scones. It’s all hands on deck out here.
Drew Nayle: Do police have any leads?
Lincoln Steele: I think we saw the calibre of the police at yesterday’s press conference, Drew. Hostile and uncooperative. And Maddy Muir wasn’t any better.
Drew Nayle: I watched that footage and, I’ve gotta say, Lincoln, I was unimpressed. I know I’ll cop it from the bleeding-heart woke listeners, but that mother looked like she had something to hide.
Lincoln Steele: That’s certainly what we’re seeing here, Drew. Everyone we’ve spoken to has told us that Josh McCreedy, the deceased father, was a well-liked, active member of the community. He played footy and was often seen at the local church on a Sunday with his young friends.
Drew Nayle: Maddy Muir has accused him of taking the baby, and there were certainly pictures of him posted with the baby, but he was found tragically killed and the baby wasn’t with him. Are we certain he took the baby, Lincoln? I mean, a baby of that age can’t just get up and walk off, can it?
Lincoln Steele: You’re absolutely right, Drew. As I said, I’ve spoken to many people who all agree Josh McCreedy was a great bloke. They’re questioning whether he actually took the baby at all. Now, if he didn’t, we have to look at where the baby was last—and that was with Maddy Muir.
Drew Nayle: Thanks, Lincoln. We are going to take some calls on this topic now because it’s certainly a hot potato. We’ve got Lydia on the line. Go ahead, Lydia.
Lydia: Good morning, Drew. Long-time listener, first-time caller.
Drew Nayle: Good to have you on the program, Lydia. What did you want to say?
Lydia: Drew, I studied the mother on the television and I’m not convinced she’s telling the truth. She looked too upset, if you get my drift. Overdone in my opinion. And did you see her eyebrows? I remember when I had my first baby, I never had time to get my eyebrows done. I mean, she claims to be a single mother. Does she take the baby to the eyebrow salon?
Drew Nayle: It’s a good point, Lydia. Next caller is on the line. Go ahead, Tezza.
Tezza: She’s pure evil. Standing with her parents, trying to get sympathy. For what! I taped the interview and then paused it and I swear, Drew, she was smirking. It’s that bit where she raises her hand to her mouth. It’s to hide a smirk. She’s revolting. That baby is better off without her.
Drew Nayle: Thanks, Tezza. We’re certainly getting a lot of women today who have taken an instant dislike to Maddy Muir. I’m a strong believer in women’s intuition. Always have been. You women just know. You’re up next, Jasmine.
Jasmine: I live in Deception Bay, Drew. Maddy’s a neighbour of mine and she’s a nice woman. She taught my son at the local school before she went on maternity leave. Her baby is missing, and I don’t understand why everyone is pouncing on her. And why are you calling her ‘unemployed’ for God’s sake? She’s a teacher on maternity leave! It’s like you’re trying to put her down, make her sound like she’s nothing and then kick her. All of you are the problem here. And bloody Josh is not the saint you’re making him out to be.
Drew Nayle: I think you’re getting a bit hysterical there, Jasmine. In my day, hysterical women would pop a Valium and have a strong cup of tea and a lie down. Time to hear from our sponsors.
NEWS OF AUSTRALIA
The Truth About Baby Ethan
Lita Sumuštinis reporting from Deception Bay, Victoria
Wednesday, 15 January, 6.30 am
The search for missing seven-month-old baby Ethan Muir has entered its third day in the small coastal town of Deception Bay, a couple of hours east of Melbourne. The sleepy rural town was rocked when unemployed single mother Maddy Muir, 25, reported her infant son missing on Monday morning. Hours later, her estranged lover, Josh McCreedy, 25, was found deceased at the scene of a fatal car accident.
But according to locals, things are not as they seem.
This reporter spoke to a number of concerned citizens around Deception Bay. It would appear that Josh McCreedy was a popular young man and locals are finding it impossible to believe that he could have done what Maddy Muir is accusing him of.
In one online survey, nearly sixty per cent of voters said they did not believe Josh McCreedy took the baby.
‘These virtue signallers live in a snowflake world,’ posted one Deception Bay local man under the pseudonym ‘Vote4Dutton’. ‘How do they know she didn’t kill her ex and is hiding the baby somewhere?’
The population of Deception Bay swells over the summer with holiday-makers, and locals and visitors all have opinions on the missing baby.
‘Modern-day feminism teaches women to hate men,’ said one holidaying professor who was lunching at the Commercial Hotel. ‘There’s a cult of outrage that seeks to disparage men. These militant feminists are no longer looking for equality. They bang on about the patriarchy, but I can cite several studies that show it does not exist. It’s a construct built by angry women. This narrative of the missing baby taken by the evil man plays neatly into their hands.’
Things got a little heated when one local cafe owner tried to show her support for the single mother, but she was quickly shouted down by an esteemed local man who yelled, ‘Are you one of those people who convict others based on allegations?’ Police had to be called when the cafe owner then refused the man service and he in turn refused to leave the cafe. He claimed she had no right to discriminate against him under the law.
