Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“What do you think it says?” Breeze asked as she pulled onto the main road.
I waved at a smiling Jim, who insisted on seeing us off despite looking like his cane might punch through the church floor.
“I don’t know,” I said, staring at the white envelope still scrunched in my hand.
Breeze stopped at a red light. “But you’re going to open it, right?”
I sighed. “I need to. You don’t leave a note unless you want someone to read it.”
“Do you think there might be clues? About the house?”
I shifted in my seat. “I don’t want to let myself consider that there could be something in this for me. I feel guilty enough that was the only reason I was looking for her in the first place. She needed someone. Like what if I had found her two weeks ago?”
The words burned on exit like vomit.
“Move!” Breeze shouted at a red Swift in front of us, her usual calm cracked wide open. “You can’t think like that. Because you can’t know. There’s probably nothing anyone could’ve done once she made that decision.”
“Maybe,” I murmured, my eyes misting. “But what if she’d had the right help?”
My thoughts turned to Josh. The guilt seemed to link together like a chain. These people needed help.
Breeze pinned me with a hard look as she pulled into the open garage around the back of Steamy Sips.
“You're right," she sighed, pulling the key out of the ignition.
"I can see how having support could have eased things for her. I know it did for me when my parents passed. But that’s way beyond your pay grade.
And I mean that with love. There's nothing you could have done.”
I bit my bottom lip as my eyes studied the envelope, but I couldn't shift the guilt. I needed to do more.
Bill was leaning against the locked entrance of Steamy Sips, his brows knitted.
“Bill,” Breeze said gently, dipping her head as she moved to unlock the door.
“That’s right, it’s me, Bill. Still alive!” he chuckled. Then frowned at the door. “Doors closed.”
“We’re not open on Sundays,” she reminded him with a smile, holding the door open for us both.
“No, always open. I know. Always open here, yup. You know me!”
She sighed. “It was my parents who kept it open seven days," she reminded him. "It’s not a problem though, Bill. Sit down, and I’ll bring something over to you soon.”
“Coffee and some food,” he said as he sat down, placing his empty satchel and wallet beside him.
I didn’t know how Breeze stayed so calm all the time.
She truly was cool as a breeze. Jared would have approved.
If I were in her position, I’d be feeling the stress of a thousand bugs crawling over me while I worried that this man would never leave.
I'd likely resign myself to becoming his full-time support worker with no hope of escape.
And people accuse me of catastrophic thinking.
I couldn’t help but feel a little frustrated with Bill. It had been an emotional few days, and I needed all my headspace free to deal with Olivia’s letter.
“He’s been doing this off and on for a year,” Breeze said, catching my questioning eyes as I fetched milk from the fridge. “Guess he forgets.”
“Ever thought about saying no?” I asked, leaning my hip against the counter.
She paused, eyes flicking towards the ceiling. “Honestly? I’m worried about what might happen if I throw off his routine. It must be confusing for him. And it’s not a big hassle. Even though Taco might start to worry that she’s on a forced hunger strike.”
“I’ll sort Taco,” I said, flicking my eyes towards Bill. He was harmless, but I didn’t like the idea of Breeze having to deal with him alone if he didn’t leave. She smiled her appreciation.
When I got back downstairs, Bill was sipping a cappuccino, looking out the window. I leaned on Breeze’s side of the counter and pulled the envelope out of my back jeans pocket.
No time like the present.
“I know you!” Bill blurted suddenly, making me jolt so hard I thought my skeleton had exited my body.
“Yeah, Bill, we met the other day with Dave. Nice to see you again,” I said, trying to soften my face into something vaguely friendly.
“No. No,” he said, shaking his head, frowning hard. He looked angry, and the blue of his eyes seemed to shift in tone. “No. I know you.”
“This is Riley,” Breeze said quickly, setting a peanut butter sandwich on the table. “She works here, that’s why you know her.” She rolled her eyes as she passed me.
“New sandwich on the menu?” I whispered.
“Shut up. Best I could do on a Sunday.”
“No. Not here,” Bill insisted, still shaking his head.
Then he placed his little finger on his cheek, and his face lit up again, delighted.
“I know this, had it since you were a baby.” Bill tapped a spot on his cheek to imitate my dimple, and a tunnel opened in my chest allowing anxiety to whistle through.
“I have, yes. It was way more noticeable then, actually. But my family didn’t live here.” I wrinkled my nose. Except for those three or so months that my siblings and I did. But it was pointless to try and explain those details when we'd never left the children's home. Plus, I didn’t want to.
“Your mum,” he poked his finger deep into his cheek. “She had it too. Matching! Matching!” he chuckled again, his eyes shining.
I didn’t remember my mum. At all. But I’d seen enough photos to know we didn’t share my lopsided face dent. Agreeing felt easier.
“Did she? I never noticed.”
I still hadn’t looked back at the envelope on the counter, but I could feel Breeze’s eyes on me from the coffee machine.
“I know! Matching.” Bill repeated, then returned to his coffee.
I silently applauded care workers everywhere.
Turning my attention back to the pages on the counter, I picked up the first one and handed it to Breeze.
“Out loud, if you please.”
Her eyes widened. She took the lined yellow sheet from my hand with only the tips of her fingers.
“Ready?” she asked.
I nodded, even though my throat squeezed, and I debated treating this scenario with the same care Breeze had with her door that wouldn’t open. But Olivia deserved more than that.
Clearing her throat, she began.
“Am I just a name, another identity?
Among a billion souls of single entity.
Of those who came and those to come,
and those remembered, remembered by some.
The ladle of chance mixing our destiny,
we are the tools of fate can’t you see.
Our lives but a ripple in time’s vast ocean,
our lifespan one of peace or violent commotion.
When the day of release is nigh,
a spiritual tether is cut with a sigh.
A single energy is linked with many,
to final peace, a peace of plenty.”
I swallowed. Silence swelled between us, Olivia’s words lingering in the air like a ghost.
The emotion of the day breached my defences, and I bit back tears. If that poem was anything to go by, the world had lost a genuine creative.
“Deep.” Was all I could manage.
“So deep,” Breeze choked out, looking at the page in her hand.
“That’s what she said,” I mumbled half-heartedly.
But the words had landed somewhere deep inside me. Olivia had captured the very thing I’d tried to put into words at her funeral.
“Sort of makes her sound happy to go.” I added, chewing my cheek.
Breeze nodded, handing me back the page. Her scripted handwriting was beautiful. A true art form. There would be so much of Olivia that the world never got a chance to know.
A chopping board and tray of vegetables found their way next to me as Breeze moved her Sunday evening prep out the front.
“Page two?” she asked.
“Looks like a statement. Well, it says Olivia Mae Pratt’s official statement, so…” I trailed off, my wit having evaporated with the day.
“Mae’s a pretty middle name.” Breeze smiled, though her eyes had grown serious again.
“It is,” I agreed.
I wondered who had once loved her enough to give her that name.
As I read the contents of the letter, I took an unconscious step away from Breeze, realising what it was. I felt immediately protective of it. If anyone read this, they would know my secrets too.
Olivia had outlined the abuse she’d suffered at Bellamy Children’s Home, including several specific examples. One of them, I remembered clearly, although she’d referred to me only as the other child. It went on for pages—more details, more names. Lissy Fotherington was one of them.
All I could do was skim. It was like trying to digest something toxic. Like Breeze had said earlier, this was way above my pay grade. These pages were meant for someone who could do something about it. Someone who wasn’t me.
I’ve tried for years to find the videotapes made during these years in the hope they would back up my words and validate some of the previously dismissed statements of other survivors.
After many personal investigations, including gaining access to the location they were originally filed – that was a polite was of admitting to breaking into the children’s home and scaring me half to death – I realised they were probably destroyed when the house was closed.
A mixture of relief and regret filled me.
I wanted those people to suffer now in a way I hadn’t before, and I didn’t want Olivia’s death to go unnoticed.
I didn’t want those tapes ever to be seen by another living soul, yet I wanted to throw them down in front of a judge and jury and challenge them to dismiss her now.
And I wanted Miss Lissy—whose name appeared more than once on Olivia’s list—never to be allowed near another child again.
My throat tightened at the thought of Ema. I’d been careless enough to leave her to her fate just two nights ago, repeating my history with Olivia.
Shame filled me like bile.
I wanted the people who had gone on living as if they hadn’t ruined the lives of countless children to be held responsible. Or drawn and quartered. I wasn’t picky.
The bell above the front door jingled, and Dax walked in, holding a slobbering chocolate Labrador by the collar.
The colour drained from my face.