He knows! He knows!
The train is approaching, beating out a rhythm on the rails. Images flash against my closed lids. I see the police arriving at the flat. I see them taking my baby away. I’m fighting at their arms, begging them to give him back . . . to let me hold him.
Nicky has shuffled forward, standing close to the edge. I’m right behind him, close enough to see the fine downy hair on the nape of his neck and the dandruff on his shoulders. People are pressed around us.
He knows! He knows!
What can he do?
He can tell the police.
No.
The wind lifts the hair from Nicky’s forehead as the train appears, rushing towards us. The front carriage is forty feet away, thirty feet, twenty feet . . . I glimpse the driver behind the windshield. A man. Looking bored.
He knows! He knows!
What can I do?
Stop him!
How?
My hands touch the middle of Nicky’s back. His head begins to turn, but I push harder, feeling his weight. Giddy for a moment, I muffle a laugh as he pitches forward, fighting for balance, waving his arms in tiny circles. For a moment he seems to defy gravity, but then he falls, disappearing beneath the train with a soft whump—a sound repeated with every passing wheel.
A woman screams. Then another. I join them. People are shouting as carriages flash past us, slowing to a halt. Passengers are standing inside, waiting to get off, unaware of what’s happened beneath them. A young pudgy girl of five or six is staring at me. She’s holding a doll in the crook of her arm and tugging at her mother’s sleeve.
Her mother covers her eyes, telling her not to look.
“What happened to the man?” asks the girl.
“Shhhhh.”
“Where did he go?”
The girl pulls her mother’s hand from her face and stares at me accusingly. I cannot meet her gaze. I turn away and move through the crowd. People are pressing forward, hoping for a closer look. Others want to escape. I push past them, weaving between the forest of shoulders, keeping my head down, listening to their conversations.
“Someone jumped?”
“He collapsed.”
“Shit! Are we going to be late?”
It seems to take an age to reach the exit, the stairs. My hands are shaking. My mind numb. I must think clearly. If I leave the station it will look suspicious. I should catch a train. Choose a different platform. Get away. Cover my tracks.
The creature inside me has gone quiet, but I know what he’s thinking.
He knew! He knew! He knew!
MEGHAN
* * *
Lucy and Lachlan race each other through the front gate and down the path, hurling themselves into my outstretched arms. Flash guns are firing and TV cameras capture the moment. Our private family reunion has become public fodder, to be shown and reshown on every news channel. We are the stars of our own reality TV show: Meet the Shaughnessys.
Jack follows them down the path, carrying their twin suitcases. The photographers are yelling instructions, wanting us to pose for more shots, but I shoo the children inside and we shut the door.
I hug the children again, properly this time. Lucy talks a mile a minute, trying to tell me all her news before Lachlan has time to construct a sentence.
“I think I have nits. My head is all itchy. Grandma gave me a special shampoo, but it hurt my eyes and I had to wear conditioner on my head for ages. I cried when she combed it out, but she didn’t find any nits. So how come my head is so itchy?”
“I’m hungry,” says Lachlan.
“I’m making a snack now,” I say.
Lucy crawls up onto Jack’s lap. Lachlan comes to me.
“Did you have the baby?” Lucy asks.
“Yes—a little boy.”
Lucy frowns. “I was hoping for a girl.”
“But you knew we were having a boy.”
“Yeah, but I thought maybe you made a mistake or changed your mind—like that time we ordered that lamp from IKEA and picked up the wrong one and we decided that the wrong one looked better than the right one so we didn’t take it back.”
“Babies aren’t like lamps from IKEA,” I say.
“So where is he?” ask Lachlan. “Can we see him?”
“Not just yet.”
“Why?”
I look at Jack. We’ve already discussed how to handle this.
“Ben has gone missing,” I say.
“I knew it,” says Lucy triumphantly. “I heard Granddad and Grandma talking. They said someone stole him.”
“That’s right,” says Jack. “But we’re going to get him back.”
Lachlan frowns. “Why did they steal him?”
“They must have wanted a baby,” replies Lucy, making it sound so logical.
“But you can’t just steal one,” says Lachlan. He looks at me for corroboration.
“The police are looking for him,” I say. “That’s why all those people are outside the house. They’re reporters.”
Lachlan’s eyes have gone wide. His hand goes to his mouth. “What if the Child Catcher got him?”
“It’s not the Child Catcher,” Jack says. Ever since Lachlan watched Chitty Chitty Bang Bang he’s been terrified of the Child Catcher—a villain who lures children into a cage by offering them lollipops and sweets.
There are lots more questions about the police and the reporters outside.
I can see that Lachlan is struggling the most. “Does that mean he’s gone forever?”
“No.”
“So where is he?”
“He’s staying with some other family.”
“Like a sleepover,” says Lucy.
“No, not quite.” My heart wants to break. “Ben has a new home and he’s being looked after by someone else.”
“But why?” asks Lachlan.
I don’t know how to answer him.
“Won’t he miss us?” Lucy asks.
Jack comes to my rescue. “The person who took Ben is sad. She is so sad that she thought a baby might make her happy—even if it is someone else’s baby.”
“Why can’t she have her own baby?” Lachlan asks.
“We don’t know,” says Jack, “but we’re going to get Ben back.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Maybe not tomorrow.”
“Snack time!” I announce, clapping my hands. “Who wants oven chips?”
“Yeah,” they chorus.
Jack carries Lucy to the kitchen, which he doesn’t do much anymore because she’s grown so big. I carry Lachlan, sniffing his hair, drawing his smell deep into my lungs, wanting to remind myself that these two are safe and belong to me.
*
It’s strange having Jack at home during the day. His boss has given him indefinite leave from work, but Jack doesn’t know what to do with himself. I can manage to fill each hour with chores—cooking, cleaning, and sewing buttons—while Jack wanders through the house, looking out the window, checking his email, looking out the window again.