Chapter Six

Helen walked to the police station alone. Max had offered to come to the pub and show her the way, but Helen had insisted she was fine on her own. Coorah Creek was a small place. She was hardly going to get lost. And she might need those few minutes alone to gather her courage for what lay ahead.

Anxious to avoid Trish, she walked out through the side door of the pub. The sun was low on the horizon, settling in for the long twilight to come, but it was still warm. The town was very still. There were no cars and no other people to be seen. The distant lonesome cry of a bird of some sort was the only sound as she crossed the road towards the small town square. There was a statue there, and she paused to look at it. It wasn't the everyday sort of town square statue. Not a memorial to the town's fallen soldiers, or anything recognisable at all. It seemed to be just a collection of twisted and entwined pieces of curved metal. Modern art, no less. All the way out here. Frowning, she walked around the statue, looking for a clue to its meaning.

Mother and Child. That's what the plaque said it was called. Donated to the town by a father in gratitude for the rescue of his lost daughter. Helen took a couple of steps back and gazed at the statue again. It was complex and hard to understand, with no obvious reason for, or relationship to, such a title. But then again, maybe it did have something to say about the relationship between a mother and child.

Helen shook her head and turned away. There were enough problems ahead of her tonight. She didn't need to start imagining more.

The police residence was a typical Queenslander – set on wooden stumps and with a wide veranda on three sides. As Helen approached, she could see through a wide window into the brightly lit room. Tia was standing there, looking intently at something in front of her. Helen frowned then suddenly realised, Tia was standing at a stove. She was cooking their dinner.

Helen stopped walking as the realisation struck home. Her daughter was twenty-five years old, and Helen had never seen her cook. Mothers were supposed to teach their daughters how to cook. Or how to wear make-up or drive a car. Teach them how to become the person they were meant to be. That was a mother's job and she had failed. Miserably. She would never forgive herself for that. And if she wasn't able to forgive herself, why should Tia ever forgive her?

For one moment, Helen's courage failed her. She almost turned around and walked back to the pub. It was what a coward would do and Helen had no pretensions to bravery. If she had, her whole life might have been different. Her life … and her daughter's life too.

A second figure appeared in the window. Max stepped up behind Tia and put his arms around her. Tia leaned back against him and he pressed his lips against her hair before resting his chin on top of her head. It was a moment of intimacy that made Helen feel almost like a peeping Tom. Then Tia laughed. It was a soft, happy sound. The sound of a young woman whose life was not without joy.

When had she last heard her daughter laugh? Helen could not remember. But she knew she wanted to hear that sound again. She continued walking down the path and up the wooden steps to the front door of the residence.

Max answered her knock.

‘Helen. Come on in.'

His house was as welcoming as he was. The big living room was lined with shelves. There were plenty of books, and, here and there, wood carvings. They looked quite intricate and rather beautiful. Helen wanted to take a closer look, but didn't want to seem rude.

‘This is a nice place,' she said to Max, by way of polite conversation. ‘Not at all like I expected a police residence to be.'

‘It's comfortable enough,' Max said. ‘I'm building a new place on some land I bought down by the creek. A home for Tia and me. It's starting to take shape. You'll have to come and take a look at it.'

‘I'd love to.' Helen felt a flush of pleasure at the suggestion that she might be staying around for at least a little while. That she might have a chance to become a part of Tia's life again.

‘Tia's in the kitchen,' Max said. ‘Cooking.'

‘It smells good.'

‘It is good.' Max led the way through to a big airy kitchen. Tia was standing at the stove stirring something in a big pot. She was wearing a short denim skirt and her long hair was caught back in a ponytail. She looked over her shoulder, but didn't turn around as Helen approached.

‘I hope you like spaghetti,' she said. ‘It's Max's recipe. Sort of but not quite bolognaise.'

It was sort of but not quite a welcome, but it was something. Helen was grateful for that.

‘It sounds just fine.' She looked at her daughter's face, seeing her own uncertainty reflected there. ‘I don't know if you remember, but when you were little you loved those tiny cans of spaghetti hoops. On toast. You would have eaten them three meals a day if I'd let you.'

She was rewarded with a slow smile that lit Tia's face and made her seem more like the child that Helen remembered. ‘I did, didn't I? I had forgotten that. I haven't eaten them for…' The smile faded. Somewhere in her chest, Helen felt her heart start to break all over again.

‘Oh, Felicity. I am so, so sorry.' The words burst from her before she could think twice. ‘It was all my fault. All those wasted years.'

‘Yes, it was.' Tia's voice was brittle. ‘I told you what he was doing. That he was coming into my room. You didn't believe me. I had to get away before he … before it got worse. And you just did nothing. You were my mother. You were supposed to protect me. And you did nothing because despite what he was, you loved him more than me.'

‘No!' The cry was torn from the very heart of her. ‘I didn't love him. When you came and told me what was happening, I should have believed you. I should have known. If he could do what he did to me, I should have known he…' She stopped. She couldn't say the words out loud. The past was as real to her now as it had been then … as was the pain.

Very slowly, Tia put down the big wooden spoon she had been stirring the food with. ‘What do you mean, the things he did to you?'

‘He …' Helen struggled with the words. She'd never told anyone. She'd always been too ashamed. ‘He used to hit me.' The words came out as a whisper. ‘And he made me … do … He was a violent man. In all things.'

She watched the look of horror spread over her daughter's face.

‘Then why did you go with him? Stay with him? Make us stay with him? He wasn't even my father.'

‘Because I thought it was our only chance,' Helen said quietly, a sob in her voice. ‘I was nothing. I left school when I was fifteen to become a checkout chick at a supermarket and I was never going to be anything else. Your father ran off the day he found out I was pregnant. My parents disowned me. I was a single mother and I needed help. Someone to look after us. To look after you. I just wanted your life to be different to mine. I thought he would at least give you a home and a chance to go to school. I was willing to take whatever punishment I had to, if it meant you at least had a chance to make something of your life.'

Silence settled on the room.

‘And I failed,' Helen whispered. ‘Your life was like mine … but so much worse. I failed you, and I am so very, very sorry.'

Helen could no longer look at Tia. She lowered her head and began to turn away. It was too late. Some things couldn't ever be healed. She was grateful to have seen her daughter again. She could see that Tia had a future with a good man ahead of her. Maybe even a family one day. Helen wouldn't be a part of it, but that was all right. She didn't deserve to be. She was just glad they had met this one last time. The agony of not knowing was over, and for that she was glad. As soon as she could, she would get back on that train and leave. But before she did there was one last thing …

‘I never stopped looking for you,' Helen said, without turning back. ‘I just want you to know that. I never stopped looking. And I never stopped loving you.'

She began to walk away. She'd only taken two steps when Tia spoke.

‘Mum. Stay. Please.'

Hardly daring to hope, Helen turned around. Tia took two swift steps towards her mother. Helen opened her arms and pulled her daughter to her.

Oh the joy of holding her child again!

Tears began streaming down Helen's face. She could feel Tia sobbing too and for a very long time the two of them simply stood there, letting the grief and anger dissolve around them.

When they broke apart at last, Max was there. Smiling, he handed each of them a clean white handkerchief.

Tia kissed him on the cheek as she took hers and then she blew her nose loudly. That comical sound seemed to break the tension in the air.

‘So … are we going to eat sometime soon,' Max said with a cheeky grin. ‘I for one am starving.'

Tia chuckled. ‘You are always starving.' She flicked him with the end of the tea towel. ‘Why don't you go find us a bottle of wine? Mum and I have a lot to talk about.'