Peach

My sister and I often rode past the convent that summer. Id been trying to get her to do some exercise every day apart from the three hundred daily trips she took back and forth from the chair to the fridge and bike riding was the one thing she didnt mind. Most evenings I was able to cajole her out when it was still light enough to see but dark enough for her not to feel too exposed. Wed head down the backstreets to the river, and at Dights Falls wed turn right onto the bike trail and follow the river towards the city, zooming under the Johnston Street bridge and through the Collingwood Childrens Farm. It was a nice easy ride, a winding track with little hills and flats and corners, not too hard on the muscles and plenty to look at on either side. At that time of day there usually werent too many people about to stare at the large olive-skinned girl with the wild black mane, cycling in stately fashion behind her slim, fair-haired sister. The brown river was on our left; on our right was a cliff face dotted

with natives, the odd palm and clumps of peppercorn trees, or concrete walls covered in wild graffiti. When we came to the farm there were horses and goats and cows, even bee boxes and a few wonderful old oaks. Once we were through to the open space of the river flat we could look up to our right at the massive grey building that was known locally simply as the convent. We got into the habit of stopping there so Stella could catch her breath. She liked to lean against the fence and wax on about the spires and turrets visible through the trees, and how interesting it would be to go back in time and see what really went on there. It was all a bit of a ruse, I think, to stop me getting her back on the bike too quickly, but I liked looking at the convent too, especially towards evening when some of the lights were blazing, and the beat from a band playing outside the cafe and the smell of cooking would waft down to the bike track. We knew it had been set up by French nuns back in the 1860s and from then until the early seventies it had operated as an industrial laundry, a farm, an orphanage and a school, as well as a home for destitute women and girls in trouble. Once the nuns left and the place closed down there was a long fight to save it from the housing developers. But all that was long over by the time Dad and Mum shifted to Collingwood to be nearer their work in the city. The place had stood empty for years. Now the old dormitories and refectories and parlours were in the process of being renovated and let out to health practitioners and theatre companies, artists and writers. But when Stella and I stood musing in the middle of our bike ride, it was mostly the past we were trying to conjure up. Why would anyone choose to become a nun? Who were the orphans? What about the bad girls whod been locked up there? What crimes had they committed?

We were not from a religious family, so the lives of the women and girls whod lived there were enticingly remote. I liked the way the building seemed to change mood. Against a pale blue sky or a pink-and-gold sunset it looked full of magic, as pretty as a castle in a young girls fantasy. But when the sky was low and grey with cloud, the buildings took on the menacing undertones of a jail. Sometimes wed wander through the gate and up along the gravel path through the garden that had been laid out in the French style.The renovations were only partly completed, and large parts of it still werent open to the public. But it was easy enough to peer into the big industrial spaces where the girls had worked the laundry, eaten meals and gone to church. The gate through which the trucks had driven every day to collect the laundry from the St Heliers Street entrance was still there, battered and rusty. Y ou could see where theyd stored the coal and wood, and the huge iron boiler that had heated water for the whole place. One evening we snuck past the developers wire fence, through a door and upstairs to wander through the Magdalen dormitories. The few rows of abandoned iron beds, the sinks along one wall, the battered cupboards and dusty shower cubicles made the huge rooms eerie, as though everyone had left in a hurry. Apart from thin shafts of late-afternoon light coming through the cracks in the boarded-up windows it was more or less dark inside. It got a whole lot more eerie when Stella swore she could smell the girls whod slept there, that she could feel their spirits, too, hovering with the dust mites in the corners of the empty rooms. I told her she was crazy, that the place had been closed for almost thirty years, and yet I believed her. Stella couldnt tell a lie if she tried.

I had no idea then of my own connection to the convent. Id only just turned nineteen and, to tell you the truth, I didnt want to know. There was enough on my plate already. Mum and Dad were overseas. I had my studies, a summer job, a best friend in the middle of a huge drama of her own making, and a sister I was meant to be caring for, who, for reasons of her own, seemed intent on doubling her size. And there was Luke, too, of course. Luke the Fluke Robinson, my former boyfriend with the smoky grey eyes, who had been saved from drowning when he was three years old by his mum who couldnt swim until she found out she had to. He used to tell me that there was no getting away from the past; that wanting to know your own history is as basic as the need to take your shoes off at the beach. That first touch of icy water, the million sand granules squishing between your toes, the vast expanse of sky above, and you know you just know you have a right to be there. Well, he was right in a way. The past does come after you whether you like it or not. It blusters in like a noisy drunk off the street, tapping you on the shoulder, demanding to tell his story. You resist at first because you have better things to think about, then you make an excuse to slip away, and when that doesnt work you listen out of politeness, impatient for the end because the story doesnt make much sense. There is none of this followed by that, the way a story is meant to go. People and events drift in and out as they please, running together like drops of water on a grimy windscreen, reforming, breaking apart, and flying off in different directions. But you get hooked anyway, and when the story is over you see it makes its own kind of sense. It is then you understand that all youve ever known about yourself and your particular place in the world has shifted position.

Youre left wondering how youre meant to deal with it. But you do. Thats the good part.You do. Sadie, Ellen, Cecilia and now me.

Sadie

1915

It began at daybreak with three hard knocks on the door, and light sneaking like a thief through the holes in the blind. Sadie woke on the third knock and reached for her dressing-gown. She was two weeks behind with her rent and the old skinflint who owned most of the street made it his business to call early if someone needed a warning. Not to worry. T here was three pounds ten in the pocket of her gown, and a little more in the drawer near her bed. With a bit of luck shed have enough to pay the milkman as well. She could hear the faint clip-clop of his horse in a nearby street. Whoa there, girl She smiled through a thick head and dry mouth and felt for the extra money in the side drawer. Bill the milko had cut her plenty of slack over the years; shed see him right. By the time she had opened the door of her tiny Carlton terrace her feet were freezing. She was met with thick white fog and two people, neither of them the landlord. A heavy, red-faced woman dressed in some kind of grey uniform was closest. She had

short, steel-grey hair and narrow eyes, hard as splinters, and she was carrying a blanket over one arm. Next to her stood a fresh-faced copper, all done out in brass buttons, a cap and shiny black boots. He had a long baton in a holster by his side. Sadie held firm. It didnt do for a woman living alone to show fear. Her first thought was for the boy,William, living with his father now, cutting stone in some godforsaken place up near Echuca. She clutched tightly at her dressing-gown and snarled a quiet prayer to the God she had no time for these days. Let the kid live. It was only then that she saw the third person. Lurking behind the other two, his hat pulled down over his eyes, pretending he wasnt there, was Frank! What the hell was that sanctimonious little bastard doing knocking on her door at six in the morning? Sadie caught his eye and he edged further back. She had to stifle the jeer that rose like bile from her guts. Under the thumb of a hypochondriac wife for twenty years and run off his feet with two carping sisters, it was a wonder hed managed to get himself off the chain for the early-morning outing. Yes? Sadie said. The copper shoved some kind of document under her nose. Sadie waved it away. I can see youre a copper, she said. What you here for? Reading wasnt her strong point, but that wasnt for him to know. Let that slimy little bastard Frank tell them if he must. The copper didnt say anything at all, and neither did the other two, but they looked at each other, shifty and sly-eyed, as if they were unsure how to proceed seeing as shed refused their bit of paper. She folded her arms and waited, apprehensive but righteous. It was freezing, she had over a month of rent in her pocket and this was her front door. You should read it, the copper said uncertainly, trying to sound as if he knew what was what, when everything about his silly young face told her he was out of his depth.

Why? Its the law. Is that a fact? Yes. What law says Ive got to read it? Otherwise you wont know what were here for. Cant you tell me, Officer? she mocked. He would have joined the police as a face-saver when all his mates were volunteering. Not that she blamed him, of course.Why get your head blown off if you didnt have to? Even so she wanted to jeer, Decided to keep your skin on, did ya, shirker? The other two were looking at her with curled lips and it angered her. Maybe her dressing-gown was grubby and she had no slippers, but it was six oclock in the morning and Sadie pushed her shoulders back, pulled her belt tighter and reminded herself that shed never pretended to be anything she wasnt. She fed her little girl well, kept her clean and kept a decent roof over their heads. Sometimes only just but still. What right did they have to look down their noses? And what brings you here, Frank? She was already imagining telling Dottie about this later. Too gutless to come on his own! He brings the jacks and some fat bitch from the government to my door at daybreak and expects me to stand there trying to guess what hes about. The words were spilling around in her head, but her mouth stayed tight. Dot was going to love this. Snatch a laugh or two when you could else youd go barmy was her theory, and as far as Sadie was concerned it wasnt a bad one. Stories that stuck it to the jacks sent them both off like tops. Frank was behind this, whatever it was. If the copper hadnt been there she would have given him a piece of her mind, told him to keep the few measly quid he gave her every month if that meant she never had to look at him again.

He still couldnt meet her eye. You are Mrs Sadie Reynolds? the copper asked stiffly, as if he had the baton up his rear end. Yes. Where is your husband? Thats my business. Where is your husband, Mrs Reynolds? Sadie knew shed better start toeing the line or thered be more trouble. If you must know, he is up north, working. You keep in contact with him? Yes, she spat. Of course I do. It was a lie but so what? Joe turned up for a feed every now and again, and for whatever else took his fancy. Last time it had been the boy, and theyd fought cat and dog over that one but what use dwelling on it? She didnt have the money to feed a growing boy and they both knew it. Joe would let her starve without blinking an eye, but that shouldnt mean the kid had to. To all intents and purposes her husband was gone, and hed taken their son with him. Well, Mrs Reynolds, we dont want any trouble now, the copper said uncomfortably. Nor do I. So where is Ellen? What? A shaft of ice went straight to her guts, and her bowels began to churn. Ellen, the young man said again, triumphant now he could see her fear. He looked down at his bit of paper. Ellen McIntosh Reynolds. Three years old. Where is she? Where do you think? Sadie said loudly, trying to still the panic, but her voice sounded hollow as if she was in some kind of cave. In her bed asleep. The three of them looked at her impassively. She almost told them to go and take a look for themselves if they didnt believe

her, except that would be inviting them in and that was the last thing she wanted. May we see her please? No. Mr McIntosh wants to see the child, Mrs Reynolds. Well, he cant! He is the childs father, Mrs Reynolds. So? For the millionth time she cursed her own stupidity. In a crazy fit of honesty shed put his name on the birth certificate. The child had her husband Joes surname, of course - that was the law but seeing as shed hardly seen Joe over these last few years she decided to stick Franks surname in the middle. The poor little mite needs to know who her real dad is. Oh why had she done that? It gave him ideas above his station, made him think he had rights far and beyond what was the case. She turned to Frank. What do you mean bringing people here? she hissed, trying frantically to grab the doorknob without taking her eyes from his face. Her father had been a tough Scot, and hed taught her that the chances of winning are always better if you stand your ground. But the door had swung wide open behind her and she was unable to catch the knob. Sadies heart had begun to beat in her chest like a terrified bird trying to get out of a cage. She swallowed and swallowed but couldnt seem to get the lump out of her throat. There was slipperiness under her arms, too, in spite of the cold, and at the back of her neck sweat had begun to trickle down like tears. They were moving towards her, crowding in close. We have evidence, Mrs Reynolds. The copper was talking. Evidence? You have no male support. But I have a She looked at Frank frantically. That you are an unfit mother.

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An unfit Show it to me! That you consort with unsavoury characters. Like who? She looked from one to the other, the panic bubbling through her now like poisonous gas. You keep company with fallen women. What are you talking about? Prostitutes, he said under his breath. Sadie stared at him, barely able to breathe. It was as if someone had punched her hard in the side of the head and shed forgotten how to suck the air in again. They must mean Mona who stayed over sometimes, poor downtrodden little Mona, with three mites to feed, who gave her a couple of quid every now and again just to have somewhere to flop when she needed a rest. The johns never came anywhere near the house. That had been understood right from the start. Suddenly the three of them were pushing past her.They walked straight through into the narrow passageway of the little house and it took her a few moments to realise what was happening. Get the hell out of there! she yelled after them. But the copper was opening the first door on the left and poking his head in. You have no right! We have every right, Mrs Reynolds. Sadie ran past them, down to the second door on the left where the child was asleep, and tried to bar the door with her body. Dont you touch her! she said in a low voice. She didnt want to wake the child with angry voices outside her door. But in a couple of swift movements the young cop had grabbed both her wrists and pulled her away from the doorway. He pushed both her arms up behind her back and held her there while the other two went in to where the child was sleeping. No, no! Dont wake her! Sadie struggled to get free. You mustnt do this!

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But the woman and Frank had already closed the door behind them. In a matter of a few moments the shrill cry of her daughter sounded from behind that door. The fat woman in grey reappeared, carrying the half-asleep Ellen, who was grizzling now, with one thumb stuck in her mouth, all soft and warm in her little nightdress and socks, her half-empty bottle of milk in the other hand. Her big blue eyes were staring around at the strangers. But when she saw Sadie being held by the policeman she let go of the bottle, held out both her plump little arms and began to yell. Mumma! The fat woman spoke soothingly and tried wrapping the little girl in the red blanket. But Ellen wasnt having a bit of it. She was kicking and squirming like a sleek little seal, trying to free herself and shouting for all she was worth. Sadie caught a strong whiff of urine and somehow that set her desperation off down another tunnel. They were going to take her without even changing her, without putting clean clothes on her or brushing her lovely dark silky curls that were all mussed up at the back! Mumma! she wailed. I want my mumma! Sadie gave up all pretence of trying to keep things civilised. She lashed out at the young copper with her feet, kicking him, bending to bite his hands where she could. When that proved ineffectual, she began to scream, and spat into his face. But the copper held on, puffing and grunting against her efforts, occasionally swearing under his breath. Too gutless to go to the war? Rather fight women, would ya? Shut your mouth, whore! he growled under his breath. Found your soft spot, have I? Shut your mouth.

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Ill shut my mouth when you leave me and my child in peace. Mumma! But Sadie couldnt free herself from the young mans strong grip and so she had to watch her baby daughter disappear out the front door in the arms of a strange woman, squirming, shouting and pleading for her mother the whole way. Mumma! Ellen wailed. I want my mumma! Still holding Sadie in a tight grip, the copper walked her outside. By the time she was on the footpath, Frank was closing the car door on the woman whod settled into the back seat of a black Ford with the howling child on her knee. Please dont do this, Frank, Sadie gasped. Anything but this, I beg you. Ill tell the government that hes deserted me and you can move in. Or Ill come to you.Well live as man and wife! Anything! You had your chance, he said, walking carefully around to the other side. The copper let Sadie go, hurried around to the drivers side, got in and started the motor. Sadie ran to the window where the child was looking out and pulled uselessly on the handle. Give her back! Mumma! Ellen screamed. The car took off and Sadie, sobbing and cursing, ran after it as long as she could in her bare feet.When the car was gone and she couldnt run any longer her feet all cut about and bleeding she stopped to lean against the bakerys brick wall, gasping. Help me, she mumbled. Help me, someone. Please help me! But there was no one to help her. The street was as empty of people as it had been half an hour before, and the grey light was as inadequate and miserable as a soldiers blanket. She stumbled back along the footpath to the empty house, the door still hanging wide, and climbed the stairs up to the front

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door. She fell inside, crawled along the passageway to the childs room and buried her face in the bedclothes. They might as well have ripped her arms off and thrown her to the dogs, or put her in a cage for people to come and jeer at. She was done for now. Even as she lay on the floor, all curled up like a stillborn calf, the childs blanket stuffed in her mouth and her dressing-gown wet with tears and snot, she could feel the hinges that held her together loosening with each passing minute. Soon she would be just a rubbery shape on the floor. Some weird-looking thing that only vaguely resembled a woman, a sack of blood and bone, tissue, hair, muscle, barely human. My baby Give me back my baby. On the fifth morning after Ellen had been taken, Sadie received a letter from Frank. Mrs Joseph Reynolds McPherson Street Carlton Dear Sadie, By now you will have had a chance to gather yourself, and I pray that you see the wisdom of my decision. For your information, I have placed the child with the nuns in St Josephs nursery at the Abbotsford Convent, but be warned you no longer have any legal rights regarding her. She is now a Ward of the State and you are not permitted to see her. I have agreed to pay all extra costs both now and into the future, and so the child will have education and not be put to menial work. The Reverend Mother has made me aware of the future tuition

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fees, all the extras such as music lessons, extra milk, special uniforms for this and that, and although it is a lot on my wage I am prepared to carry the costs. Im sure you will be comforted to know that after the initial fretting, Ellen is already laughing and smiling and chattering again. The Sister in charge of the babies section at Abbotsford, Mother Mary Help of Christians, is a kindly soul and in my opinion well suited to looking after babies and toddlers. Try to put this behind you, Sadie. Before God, I am convinced Ive done the right thing. Yours faithfully, Frank McIntosh

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