The Missing Pieces of Us Read online

  ‘What’s the prize?’

  ‘Me being happy,’ Lauren said. ‘Skye, you know none of us can get ready in time if you take longer.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘Now, if you’re not careful, you’ll miss the bus. I can’t take you to school today—the car is full of all those art supplies I picked up yesterday for my class.’

  ‘That’s okay, Mum. You know I always make it. I’ll be fine.’ Skye’s eyes shone wickedly as she went into her room, closing the door. A few seconds later, music started blaring.

  Lauren smiled ruefully and went back downstairs. Sometimes it seemed the differences between her children were as large as their age gap.

  She’d rarely had to worry about Stu, who seemed to have been born with built-in responsibility. Now in his second year at uni, studying accounting, he was early with his assignments and seldom missed a class—if he did, he made up for it later. To earn a little extra money, he taught kids at the Gooseberry Hills pool, and his employers couldn’t speak highly enough of him.

  Skye was the complete opposite. Always running late, always forgetting her homework. Lauren had lost count of the number of times she’d come downstairs after Skye had left for school and found her lunch still sitting on the kitchen bench. A few of the Year Nine teachers had expressed concern at Skye’s scattiness.

  Chalk and cheese, as Dean’s mother always said.

  Lauren walked into the kitchen and poured herself a coffee before reviewing the notes she’d made for today’s lessons. She could have used more sleep, but she was still excited about her day: she loved teaching kindy. Loved seeing the kids with their little faces full of wonder. Loved their innocent questions about the world and their enjoyment of simple things—painting, reading, learning to write.

  Her job at Gooseberry Hills School was the best teaching position she had ever held. She’d worked in both public and private schools, and she had learned early on that her colleagues could make the job satisfying or not. And the teachers at the Goose—pronounced ‘Gooze’—were happy and cheerful, as were the children, mostly. The principal, Hamilton Walter, always encouraged openness.

  Now when she glanced at the clock that hung over the kitchen sink, Lauren realised she’d have to get a move on if she wasn’t going to be late—and Skye wouldn’t let her forget that in a hurry! Lauren started to gather her notes and took another sip of her coffee as she glanced around for her briefcase.

  Heavy clomping on the stairs indicated her son was on his way down.

  ‘Could you bang on Skye’s door, please?’ she called to him.

  She heard him clomp back up the stairs and bang on Skye’s door. When he finally entered the kitchen, he said, ‘It wouldn’t hurt if she missed the bus. Might teach her some time-management skills.’

  ‘Like you’ve never run late for something before. You’re not her father,’ Lauren reprimanded him mildly. He could be a bit hard on Skye. ‘Nobody’s perfect.’

  ‘Alright, I’m coming!’ Skye yelled at the top of her voice before jumping the last few steps on the staircase and barrelling past Stu, her bag on her back and ever-present earbuds in her ears. Lauren was sure she heard Skye mutter, ‘Golden Boy,’ to Stu, as she passed him, but there was no point in chiding her for it because she wouldn’t hear. With a cursory flick of her hand towards Lauren, Skye raced out the front door, not even going into the kitchen to grab anything for lunch. The word ‘goodbye’ died on Lauren’s lips.

  She turned her attention to Stu, who was still wearing pyjama shorts, his curly brown hair flopping over his eyes. ‘How are you today?’ she asked.

  ‘Okay,’ he replied, checking the water in the coffee machine and grabbing a pod from the drawer. ‘Skye’s being a pain in the arse as per usual.’

  After setting down her half-drunk coffee, Lauren picked up her briefcase and put it on the table, before stuffing all her notes inside and snapping it shut.

  ‘Teenagers are changeable creatures. Beautiful one moment, a storm the next. Yes, yes, I know you’re not like that at all, but you’re one of the few.’ Lauren gave him a slight smile. ‘Actually, I do remember a year when all you did was grunt at me—so you weren’t the perfect teenager either!’

  Stu grunted, and Lauren laughed. She glanced at the clock again: there was just enough time for a quick chat with her son.

  ‘What ages do you have to teach today?’ she asked him.

  ‘The three-year-olds,’ he answered with a grin. ‘Sometimes they can be cute, but more often than not, they’re hard work. There’s this one boy who’s loud and rude, and his mother does nothing about it, just sits on the edge of the pool and drinks coffee while he kicks other kids under the water.’ Stu spooned sugar into his cup and stuck it under the coffee machine nozzle.

  ‘Some kids are hard work, but they’re usually worth it,’ Lauren said. It made her heart sing when she saw what a responsible man Stu was growing into. ‘Look at you!’

  ‘Ha, ha!’

  Lauren watched her son as he sat down. His fluid movements were so much like Dean’s, but there was an angle about his nose and chin that she couldn’t attribute to either Dean’s side of the family or herself. So where did that come from?

  On some days, an expression would pass across Stu’s or Skye’s face and she’d want to know who they looked like; on other days, she didn’t care. On some days, she wanted to share her children with her biological parents; on other days, she didn’t. But no matter whether it was a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’ day, various questions had been plaguing her lately. Did she have any siblings out there? What about nieces and nephews?

  When Skye had been smaller, after she’d learned what it meant to be adopted, she’d sometimes tried to match Lauren up with other women—usually those with red hair, freckled fair skin and blue eyes.

  The first time had been at a netball match. Eight-year-old Skye had raced up to Lauren saying, ‘Mum, Mum! You need to come and look at this lady.’ Lauren had taken her daughter’s hand and followed her. Skye had stopped in front of another girl’s mum and said, ‘See, Mum? She’s got red hair and freckles like you. She could be your sister!’ Then Skye had gazed up at Lauren, hope in her face. The other woman had jerked back in surprise, staring warily at them, and Lauren had done some quick talking.

  Lauren had asked Skye not to do that anymore, but it hadn’t stopped her. Over the years, there had been a substitute teacher, a lady behind a grocery store counter, a tour guide on an excursion, and a few others. But, thankfully, not for a couple of years now, so maybe Skye had finally grown out of it.

  But for Lauren the question remained: how many people were walking around with the same blood as hers running through their veins?

  Lauren still wasn’t sure she could seek the answer to this question without hurting her parents. She loved them and didn’t want to risk bringing them pain. Surely they’d think her searching for her birth mother was some kind of betrayal?

  Dean had an opinion on this: ‘If you want to find her, then do. All you have to do is talk to Connie and George. Just talk to them! Don’t assume you know what they’re thinking. You might be surprised.’

  Maybe he was right. It could be all in her mind. But Dean had a black-and-white way of looking at life. His motto was: ‘If you want to know the answer, ask the question; if you’ve got a problem with someone, tell them.’ To Lauren, it wasn’t that simple. Connie and George had taken her into their lives and raised her—a child who wasn’t theirs! Surely that deserved loyalty?

  ‘I’m going over to Papa’s after work,’ said Stu, breaking into Lauren’s thoughts.

  ‘That’s nice of you, honey. You’re very good to them,’ she said, getting her lunch out of the fridge. It was nearly 8.15, and she needed to be in the car by 8.25.

  Eight-fifteen also meant that her dad, George, would be sitting on the verandah, reading the paper, a cup of tea on a table next to him, while her mum, Connie, would be washing the dishes and sweeping the floor. Since they’d both retired, their morning regimen had bee
n as reliable as the sun coming up. Apparently routine was part of ageing, which proved to Lauren that her parents were getting older. Not something she wanted to dwell on.

  ‘You know, when I was over there last week, Papa mentioned that he’s worried about you.’ Stu put his coffee cup down and looked directly at Lauren.

  ‘What? Why?’ she asked. Although even as she said it, she realised that her exhaustion was probably evident to others.

  ‘He says you haven’t been yourself lately. You were supposed to ring them yesterday.’

  Lauren hit her forehead with the palm of her hand. ‘Hell! I forgot. I’ll do it at recess.’ She was so annoyed with herself. She’d always been a typical type-A personality: a woman who not only made to-do lists, but also added new items after she’d done them, just so she could cross them off. But lately, as more of her items went undone—mostly because she kept leaving her lists behind or even losing them—she realised that she wasn’t as efficient as she used to be. Perhaps it was part of getting older, like the routine her parents had set. God, I hope not, she thought, making a mental note to buy another notepad.

  ‘Papa thinks you’re doing too much,’ Stu said.

  ‘Don’t be silly!’ scoffed Lauren before gulping down the rest of her coffee, rinsing out her cup and putting it in the draining rack. ‘I’m fine. I’ve got you lot holding me together.’ She leaned back on the bench, smiling. ‘He’s my dad, so it’s his job to worry. But what on earth gave him that impression?’

  ‘Oh, gee, Mum, I don’t know,’ said Stu, folding his arms. ‘The big black bags under your eyes, or maybe you forgetting things you’ve never overlooked before—’

  ‘Honey, that’s all completely normal for a busy person. Sure, I’m tired, but who isn’t? Working full-time is a constant juggle, but Dad and I are very lucky because we love what we do. And for me it’s week six of the term. You know I get more tired as the term goes on.’ She paused and gave his shoulder a squeeze. ‘It’s nice you’re both concerned, and I love you for that, but I’m fine, honestly. Now, I’ve got to run or I’ll be late to school, and Skye will never let me live that down!’

  Chapter 2

  Tamara rolled over and reached her hand out to the other side of the bed. Empty. She frowned and opened her eyes. Craig didn’t usually get up before her.

  The delicious aroma of coffee permeated the hallway, and then she heard the tinkle of the teaspoon against china, the clack as Craig set the spoon on the bench, and the floorboards creaking under his footsteps.

  She stretched and sat up.

  ‘Stay there,’ Craig said as he came into the bedroom. ‘You looked like Sleeping Beauty, so I didn’t want to wake you.’ He put the cup on the bedside table and bent to kiss her good morning. His beard tickled her chin.

  ‘Sleeping Beauty?’ Tamara said, her voice husky from sleep. ‘More like Godzilla!’

  ‘Not to me.’ Craig sat on the edge of the bed and smiled at her.

  ‘Get out!’ Tamara swatted him and shuffled back against the pillow, sitting up and reaching for her coffee.

  A stranger would never have guessed that Tamara’s burly, tattoo-covered, earring-studded man was nothing but a big softy.

  She heard a brisk clicking noise on the floorboards in the hallway, and then whoomph—a large dog who contained about a hundred breeds landed on the bed. Tamara’s mug shook, coffee slopping out. Their brindle and black dog was face to face with her, his large tongue on her cheek.

  ‘Whiskey!’ snapped Craig, pulling him off the bed. ‘How the hell did you get in here?’

  ‘Ow!’ Tamara flicked her hand to get rid of the hot coffee and put the mug down. She reached over to fondle Whiskey’s soft ears. ‘It’s alright, bub, you don’t have to go outside again, do you?’ She spoke like she would to a baby, then asked Craig, ‘Aren’t we going for a walk with him this morning?’

  ‘You looked too comfortable in bed and I’ve got to go into the construction site early. It’s going to be so bloody hot today, I want to get the slab poured before ten. I’d like to keep the guys out of the midday sun if I can.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Tam, before turning her attention back to Whiskey. ‘Well, it will just have to be you and me.’ The dog thumped his tail on the floor.

  Craig glanced at his watch. ‘It’s 7.30 already.’

  Tamara knew what he was saying: she’d have to be quick. By the time she did all the normal morning things and had taken Whiskey for a half-hour walk, she’d be running against the clock for work.

  He’s trying to control you again, the Tamperer warned.

  Don’t be silly! He’s letting you know the time so you can work out your own schedule, the Tam said.

  Tamara had long ago christened the two competing voices in her head. While the Tam pointed out and reminded her of all the good things, the Tamperer was destructive. The Tam also gave her solid advice when the Tamperer didn’t. Unfortunately, the Tamperer often had more to say and spoke much louder.

  ‘If you’re quick,’ Craig said, ‘I’ll drop you at the park on my way to work.’ He leaned forward for another kiss.

  ‘Is that a challenge?’ Tamara looked at him suspiciously.

  ‘Take it as you like!’ He raised his eyebrows and wiggled them.

  She threw back the covers, got out of bed and went to select her walking outfit. As much as she would have loved to be one of those people who pulled on an old tracksuit and ran a brush through their hair before leaving the house, she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She never went outside without perfect hair and makeup, and always wore the proper clothes. She felt naked without makeup on. Maybe someone would see something in her face she wanted—no, needed—to keep hidden.

  Doctor Kerr had explained that this way of thinking was to do with her father, Evan, and his obsessive-compulsive need for everything to be in its place; it had just affected the way Tamara dressed and looked as well. This helped in her career, as she managed a fashion boutique at the local mall. But her need to appear perfect sometimes annoyed Craig. She’d often made them both late to social occasions because her hair wasn’t right or her makeup had run slightly.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ Craig would say, using the quiet tone he’d perfected for this kind of situation—a cross between exasperation and puzzlement. He’d told her, more than once, that he didn’t understand this part of her character.

  It’ll cause problems between the two of you, the Tamperer had warned. Mark my words. He’ll leave you over it.

  Don’t be ridiculous, answered the Tam. He loves you.

  Tamara would shake her head and try to listen to the Tam.

  This morning she felt okay. ‘Right, you can time me if you like,’ she said to Craig, running towards the bathroom with Whiskey barking at her heels.

  Craig followed her and grabbed her gently around the waist, pulling her to him. His beard scratched against her face as he kissed her again, this time for longer.

  Whiskey let out a bark and Tamara shushed him. Playfully she let her hands wander over Craig’s chest, across his shoulders and down his back so she could give his ponytail a tug.

  He patted her arse and let her go. ‘Five minutes,’ he challenged.

  ‘Fifteen,’ she bargained.

  ‘You’ll be walking there yourself. I should have been on site already.’

  She knew from his tone he wasn’t being mean, just letting her know what he had to do. After throwing a quick glance at the clock on the bedside table, she raced into the bathroom and turned on the shower.

  Seven minutes later, she was applying the last of her makeup. When Craig held out her sandshoes, she took them and slipped them on. While Craig called for Whiskey so he could chain him on the back of his ute, she ran to the laundry and grabbed the dog’s lead from behind the door. When she got into the passenger seat of Craig’s ute, she was only one minute over.

  Craig laughed.

  ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘I can give you a month’s notice that we’re g
oing out for dinner, and we’ll still run late because you’re getting ready, but when it comes to walking the dog, you’re on time! Why?’

  Tamara stared into the rear-view mirror and saw the excitement on Whiskey’s face. He was leaning over the edge of the tray, looking enthusiastically at her, his large tongue hanging out. It seemed as though he was smiling.

  ‘I like walking with him,’ she said.

  ‘Ah, but you don’t like going out to dinner with me?’ Craig asked, sounding amused.

  ‘You know that’s not what I mean!’

  ‘I know. Just teasing. Trying to get a rise out of you.’

  Tamara put her hand on his leg. ‘Is it a house slab you’re pouring today?’

  Craig’s large hand came down to cover hers and he drove one-handed. ‘House over in the next suburb. It’s a huge one—two hundred and thirty square metres.’ He shook his head. ‘When I first started this business, houses were only around one-fifty squares. Now we’ve got smaller blocks and larger houses.’ He tapped his fingers on her hand and smiled at her. ‘All the better for my bank balance!’

  ‘I’d rather a smaller house with a nice backyard,’ said Tamara.

  ‘Me too. Anytime.’

  A thought popped into Tamara’s brain: how normal this was. She was having a normal conversation, in a normal car, inside a normal relationship. It gave her a feeling of satisfaction. Maybe she’d finally overcome her fears of commitment and of being a disappointment. She no longer felt unworthy, unlovable and unseen as she had when she was a child. Today, it appeared that the countless thousands of dollars she’d spent on therapy with Doctor Kerr over the past ten years had been worth it.

  Yeah, well, you know where this relationship will end up, don’t you? the Tamperer whispered.

  No, said the Tam, you’ve got it under control. Doctor Kerr has given you all the skills you need to deal with the emotions when they start. You’ve got this, and Craig loves you.

  But Tamara’s smile slipped from her face. What if everything was so normal that she mucked it up?