The Lost Girl

By Judith C Deane-Freeman

Twin babies separated at birth who grow up on opposite sides of the country, are unaware of the other's existence, until one of them, Joe, goes searching for answers. A divorced academic and parent of a feisty teenage daughter, Joe discovers at his father's funeral the reason behind his miserable, unloving childhood, when a family secret is revealed. He sets out on a journey to discover his true identity, and along the way, he comes to a better understanding of himself.

Joe's long-lost twin, Pammie, has had a happy childhood in Bethesda, a closed religious community in rural South Australia, but like Joe, is confronted by startling news about her identity. Joe’s search takes him from Melbourne, to the Outback and to Lismore in NSW, before finally arriving at Bethesda. Constrained by obligations to his newly-found sister, and his needy daughter, Joe is conflicted by his feelings. As he unravels the mystery surrounding his birth, and the separation of the twins, Joe makes peace with himself. But can he find a way to unite all the threads of his life to find true happiness?

Finding each other is as liberating for Joe and Pammie, as it is for the people they love. Cheese-making, troublesome teenagers, dick pics and cult life, combine with midwives, family life, love and belonging, to create a heart-warming story celebrating the complexity of modern life in Australia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tellwell Talent
• Release date: May 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9781922812551

Judith C Deane-Freeman

Judith Deane-Freeman – bio.I live and work in rural South Australia where I was born and raised. After completing an arts degree at uni and while contemplating career options, true love intervened. Four children and fifteen years passed and I once again considered my career options. This time I had added qualifications, which determined my decision. Now I could multi-task, undertake complex problem solving, function on little sleep and wipe up assorted bodily fluids without flinching. Nursing seemed the perfect choice! I have subsequently found it to be a satisfying career, affording me the privilege of sharing in the lives of a variety of people when at their most vulnerable.My husband and I live in a straw bale house we built ourselves on our rural property where we grow our own organic fruit and vegetables. We both enjoy camping and exploring Australia by four-wheel-drive, where my more timid nature is constantly challenged by his more adventurous spirit.Although I have always lived in the country and grew up in some remote areas, I have also worked in a busy metro hospital in Adelaide in a wide range of areas including oncology, trauma, surgical, emergency, Aboriginal health and renal dialysis. Having four grown-up children, I have survived the many challenges of raising a creative bunch of individuals. Over the years I have read avidly and scribbled intermittently, but it is only since the family have left home that I have finally taken the time to write seriously. My nursing career has fed my curiosity about people, the complexity of their lives and the secrets hidden within so many families. It is their stories that inspire me to write.

Book preview

One

Joe Matthews flung his mobile down and dropped his head to his hands. Who knew one fourteen-year-old girl could derail the comfortable certainty of his professional life in just a matter of weeks? But that’s what his daughter, Saskia, had achieved since being dumped on him by his ex-wife, who had then headed off into the sunset with a new partner. Fair enough, Saskia was pissed off, angry, resentful. Joe got that, and he loved her, of course he did. He’d wanted to spend more time with her ever since the divorce, but boy, it was coming at a cost.

Shaking his head and stretching, Joe then checked his timetable, logged off from the computer, reached for his jacket and headed for the door. The department secretary looked up from her screen as he approached along the university corridor.

I’m heading out, Lou, he said. Saskia’s in trouble at school. Suspension again.

Aw, Joe, you’ve really been dropped in it, commented Louise, sitting back in her chair and regarding him with concern.

Yeah, well, she is my kid. He paused by her desk. You’ve had teenagers. Any suggestions?

Nope. They’re all different. Just don’t try to be her friend.

Ha! That’s the last thing she wants to be, said Joe, perching on the corner of the desk.

No, well, I can believe that, answered Louise. And mine were boys. Boys are just colonised briefly by aliens in adolescence, but girls are a different story. From what I’ve seen they imbibe some magic power at puberty that enables them to make their parents feel like inept, clueless has-beens.

You’ve got it, said Joe, with a sigh. At least I’m not alone, then.

What’s she done this time?

Erm, let me think, he said. Anti-social behaviour, whatever that means.

You’ll soon find out. Could be anything from cheeking the teacher to graffiti in the loo, said Louise. You’ve got your hands full, Joe, no question. She’s a feisty one, your Saskia. Want to bring her in here tomorrow? I can put her to work. How many days will it be?

Third suspension, so five days and then it’s the holidays. Thanks, Lou, but I think I’m going to have to come up with a better idea.

Well, good luck, Joe, and if you find the secret to trouble-free parenting, share it with the rest of us, please.

Cheers, Lou. I’ll let you know when I’ll be back. My lectures are finished for the semester at least.

I know, Joe, and you’re overdue some leave. Now might be a good time.

~ ~

An hour later, and Joe found himself seated in the principal’s office at his daughter’s expensive private school. The imperious manner of the principal, the heavy opulence of the office furniture, the stern faces glaring at him from the portraiture on the walls, all conspired to make him feel, rather unfairly he believed, like a guilty school student himself. Saskia’s previous misdemeanours had occurred while in her mother’s care, so this was Joe’s first time on the mat, so to speak.

It brought back unpleasant memories of his own childhood, when he had been terrorised by the authority figures in his life. Those feelings of inadequacy and helplessness were even now rendering him speechless before the principal’s relentless display of superiority and entitlement.

I’ve already spoken to your daughter. I’ve sent her to her classroom to collect her belongings and I fully expect you to reinforce the seriousness of her unacceptable behaviour. It is a privilege to attend a school of this calibre, and we demand the highest standard of behaviour at all times. The future leaders of this fine nation come from establishments such as this one. Standards must be maintained.

As the catalogue of Saskia’s misdeeds was outlined, Joe pulled himself together to advocate on her behalf. After all, the tripping up of the school bully on the running track and the subsequent kicking of her butt, had occurred months ago.

Zero tolerance, Mr Matthews. Zero tolerance for any physical assault. That is our irrefutable position.

Fair enough. A good thing too, said Joe. Sass may be a headache, but she was his princess and he wouldn’t want anyone to lay a finger on her. But surely this latest incident shows independent thinking. Leadership even. Something I would have thought you’d encourage.

The meeting, which was never going to have a productive outcome in Joe’s opinion, from that point went downhill all the way. Staging a protest against the government’s handling of refugees during a school assembly attended by the Minister for Immigration (a former pupil, no less) was, he was told, a disgrace and an embarrassment to the school, almost worthy of Saskia’s expulsion.

Independent thinking does not equate with an immature young girl developing dangerous tendencies to speak out when she should be listening respectfully. Leadership can only develop out of thoughtful modelling and mentoring. The principal gave Joe a level look. I understand you and your wife are divorced. Perhaps the family would benefit from some counselling? I can refer you to someone appropriate.

That won’t be necessary, said Joe, then making his escape as soon as he could politely do so.

~ ~

Uncomfortable meeting with the school principal behind them, and following a tensely silent drive through Melbourne, Saskia and Joe turned into their driveway. His attempts to discuss the issue at hand, had been met with hissing, alternating with huffing and plenty of eye-rolling, until Saskia had turned her back on him and plugged in her earbuds. Joe felt helpless. Not angry, he decided, just inept and inadequate. Much as Louise had described, in fact.

Once through the garage roller door, Saskia hauled herself and her bag out of the car and stomped over to the door of the house. By the time Joe collected his briefcase and laptop, she’d disappeared inside. He heard her bedroom door close as he stepped into the open-plan living room.

After emptying his briefcase, he collected his tablet from the study before going to the kitchen to make coffee. Joe studied the contents of the fridge and pantry, while hoping the smell of coffee brewing would lure his daughter from her room. It didn’t.

Settling with his coffee in the adjacent courtyard, enjoying the last of the late afternoon sunshine, he turned on his tablet and was confronted with his screensaver, a collage of photos of Saskia. From adorable newborn, through to a sultry and oh-so-beautiful pre-teen, posing confidently for her (then) hero dad. The memories overwhelmed him. Just as his love for his daughter had done, from that first moment when she was propelled into the world and into his welcoming hands. Bloody and bruised and the most beautiful sight he’d ever seen. Before or since. He had to work out how to keep the channels open. Communication was the key, because it seemed that love was no longer enough.

Coffee cup drained, and with nothing useful learned from Google on how to deal with school suspension, or on communicating with your teen, he moved inside to prepare dinner. Engrossed in the task of tossing garlic and onions in a pan, Joe didn’t notice Saskia until she slipped an arm around his waist and leaned into him.

Sorry, Dad.

Joe swiftly turned off the gas burner and gathered her in his arms, whereupon she burst into tears. Some men felt awkward around tears; he just felt a mixture of compassion and certainty. He could do tears. It was sulking and the silent treatment that completely unnerved him. Too soon, Saskia reached for some tissues and pulled away to sit at the table. Joe sat also, watching affectionately as she mopped her face and blew her red nose. She laughed, but her voice was wobbly. I know, I know, I’m not a pretty crier.

Sass, you are always beautiful to me. He winced as she rolled her eyes. Now, what’s this all about? I get that you wanted to stage a protest and I support you in that, but the dragon lady said you’ve also been disruptive in class. Disrespectful. Yadda, yadda, yadda. I know you’re miserable about your mum leaving you. So, talk to me, kid.

Actually, I’m not, Dad, said Saskia, after a long pause. Another thing Joe was good at was listening and not jumping in. I’m crazy happy she’s left me with you. I hate that guy she’s shacked up with, and anyway, you know what Mum’s like. It’s all about her. Seriously, Dad, I know you never bag her to me, but she’s a very self-centred person. She doesn’t care about me the way you do.

Saskia, I’m sure your mother –

Don’t bother, Dad, she interrupted. We both know what she’s like, but if it makes you uncomfortable, I won’t say any more about it. I just want you to know that I’m happy to be living with you. She sat back and crossed her arms, as if that was the end of the matter.

Joe was grappling with the transformation in his daughter, from the angry, insolent teenager of the past few weeks to the sweet, trusting girl before him right now. He gathered that teenagers swung from rebellious to dependent, from loving you to hating you in an instant. He guessed he just had to seize the moment.

Well, I’m really pleased to hear that. I love having you here too, Sass, he said, proceeding with caution. But and there must be a but, you realise. What’s going on at school, then?

Oh, that, she answered. I hate the place. They’re a mob of entitled snobs. I just want to get expelled so I can go to the local high school. I can, can’t I, Dad? Now that I’m living with you?

Whoa, Sass! It’s not that simple. We need to talk about the things that happened there first. Changing schools may not necessarily be the answer, and anyway, that must to be agreed upon by your mother too. It was all true, but as he watched the shutters come down, he cursed himself for going down that path. Parenting was a minefield.

Fine, whatever, she said, with a scowl. I might have known you’d take her side. Just because her family have been going to that shit-hole school for generations, I’m forced to as well, even though I hate it and don’t fit in.

It’s not about taking sides, Sass, it’s just how the custody agreement works, he explained. Now, if you can come up with a plan over the next few days as to why you need to change schools, we can look at it together when your mum comes home.

Right, like she’s going to take any notice. Can I go now?

Dinner’s nearly ready, said Joe, deciding to quit while he was sort of ahead. It was the most revealing conversation they’d had since she’d arrived, after all.

I’m not hungry, she announced. And, anyway, I’ve decided to become a vegetarian.

Since when?

Since just now, she said, picking up a fork and prodding the raw minced pork and veal oozing pinkly onto a plate by the stove. That’s disgusting. And do you know how much water and energy goes in to producing meat? Vegetarianism is better for the planet.

Joe sighed and put the meat back in the fridge, wondering at the same time how just yesterday, it had been okay to eat stir-fry chicken. I can do vegetarian pasta sauce just as easily. But, to get this straight, are you avoiding all meat, or just red meat? What about fish?

Vegetarian, Dad! That means plant matter only. But you don’t have to do without meat, you can gnaw on dead animals as much as you want. Like I said, I’m not hungry. I’m going to my room.

~ ~

Alone once more, Joe retrieved the minced meat from the fridge and added it to the garlic and onions, following it with a can of tomatoes. To cheer himself up he opened a bottle of red wine and added a generous splash to the fragrant sauce now simmering beside the pot of water he was bringing to the boil for the pasta. He reminded himself that it wasn’t a contest, this parent-child relationship, which made him wonder why he felt like he’d just lost a round in the boxing ring.

Dinner over, Joe rattled about in the kitchen, washing the dishes and tidying up, one ear cocked for Saskia. With no sign of his daughter, he then took the bottle of wine and his glass and retreated to the study, his favourite room in the small house he’d had built when his marriage broke up and their large beach-side family home was sold. He drew the curtains against the dark and sank into his leather armchair with a sigh of relief. The study looked over the street and since the block was very small, he was grateful for the double glazing and thick drapes that muted most sounds from the nearby road. Looking around the book-lined room, he felt a contentment that not even the nearby presence of a prickly teenager could dispel.

For a mathematics professor, he owned a surprising amount of fiction. Crime and science fiction predominated, but he had broad reading tastes. Then there was his music collection. Not the predictable mathematical precision of Mozart or Bach, more country rock and roll, from Keith Urban and John Hiatt, to Kasey Chambers and Emmylou Harris. His eyes rested with pleasure on some artwork and ceramics collected on various trips across the country and overseas. It was a small room, but he felt that it fitted him like a glove.

The house they’d sold had been in the up-market suburb of Brighton, old style, two-storey, big rooms, large garden, expensive to heat and maintain. His ex-wife had loved it. Would never forgive him that it had to be sold. How else she expected him to come up with the vast sum her lawyer claimed she was entitled to, he had no idea. And wasn’t there something called consequences in this life? She cheated on him. As a consequence, he left, and the house had to be sold. Saskia had never minded, which was one good thing. The house had been part of the entitled lifestyle she had decided in recent months to reject. A viewpoint to which he was ambivalent. His ex-wife, not so.

Lori had been born to privilege and considered it her due. Joe had been born the dirt-poor youngest son of a struggling farming family from outback New South Wales. Perhaps that was always going to undermine their relationship. He’d worked damned hard to provide her with the trappings of wealth but had never really felt like he belonged in that world.

Lori and Joe had met as students, swept along by the passion of young love, hormones raging, sex as exciting and empowering as the interchange between their quick and lively minds. Both good-looking and going places, they were deaf to the concerns of her parents, doyens of the Melbourne establishment. Lori was used to her own way, and at that point in time she wanted Joseph Xavier Matthews. Joe was easy prey.

He’d had a confusing, harsh childhood. His family were hard, mean and violent. Four big brothers and his father, tough as old boots, worn down by the hardship of the bush, the droughts, the unforgiving nature of farming life in marginal country, on a property too small to be financially viable. Gentle, young Joe was like a foundling in their midst. Even his tired, worn-down mother seemed to find him puzzling. He was frightened of cattle and horses, terrified of snakes and the dust storms that rolled across the endless plains. Enjoying books and puzzles when he could get hold of them and excelling at his School of the Air lessons, the males of the family dismissed him as a sissy. You shoulda’ been a girl, was a common refrain. That didn’t stop them from trying to toughen him up, cuffing him roughly, attempting with limited success to teach him to box, to ride and shoot. He was a quiet, self-contained small boy, despite the alien environment. By the time he was twelve, he had won a full scholarship to a Catholic boarding school in Adelaide. Although his family had no time for education, they had a lot of time for religion, and to offer one of their own to the church, was not only a way of dealing with the strange child in their midst, but a status symbol in the wider Catholic community.

By the time it became obvious that Joe was not destined for the priesthood, he was scoring brilliant results and heading for a stellar career. His mother died during his early university years, and after her funeral, when harsh words were spoken, he decided to stay away from his father and brothers in the future.

Lori got her way, and they married. He worked long hours, completing his doctorate while tutoring and marking, and Lori worked as a lawyer. When contraceptives let them down and Saskia came along a little earlier than planned, they juggled childcare and work, as so many parents do. Until one day, they didn’t. Joe had thought they were happy but apparently he was wrong. Lori had found someone and something else that she wanted more, and the marriage was over. More years had gone by and Lori, it would now seem, found a teenage daughter to be incompatible with her latest lifestyle.

His phone buzzed with a text. His current lady friend wanted to come over, but he had preferred to be discreet since Saskia’s arrival. Maddie was quite persistent, and to be honest, that was putting him off, so he was grateful for the excuse to back off.

As a small child, the emotions displayed towards him and which surrounded him in that male-dominated household, had been far from subtle. Anger and rejection were the standard, tears were anathema and fear was a constant. Boarding school before puberty, with its rough but fair justice and boisterous non-judgemental friendships, had been his saviour. He’d soon found a group of like-minded friends, as nerdy and clumsy at sport as he was. However, there was no doubt that he’d reached adulthood with a poor understanding of emotions, women, relationships and love.

Enter Lori, who soon taught him a great deal about all the above. In the heady, early days of their relationship, she delighted in the opportunity to enlighten him. It had all worn thin eventually, and he’d realised there were many things she’d neglected to tell him. Like how to signal falling out of love and tell someone you’re leaving them. And so, although he’d bumbled his way through several relationships post-Lori, he was floundering in the face of Maddie’s persistence.

~ ~

He was reading the paper at the kitchen table mid-morning the next day, when Saskia appeared.

I thought you’d be at work, she said, opening cupboard doors until she located cereal and a bowl. She dumped them on the table and opened the fridge, got out the milk, opened the lid, sniffed suspiciously, checked the use-by date and shrugged.

The milk’s fine, Sass, he said. I only got it yesterday. Good morning to you, too. I’ve taken some leave, as it happens.

Morning, Dad, she said, even giving him a kiss on the cheek, before shaking cereal into a bowl, pouring on the milk, then crunching cheerfully. Hope the leave’s not on my account, she said, with her mouth full. Are you sure about this milk? It tastes a bit strange.

Probably because it’s full fat and unhomogenised, he suggested.

Gross.

It’s more natural. I thought you’d approve, he said. I prefer it. Did I tell you I grew up drinking goat’s milk? Warm and frothy straight from the teats was my favourite.

Double gross! And yes, Dad, I remember. And you used to have to get up in the dark and catch the goats first, in your bare feet. The billy goat knocked you over, you had to break the ice on the water trough with your clenched fist. You had chilblains, whatever they are, on your fingers –

Okay, okay, he interrupted. I’m glad you listened to me, once upon a time.

Saskia rolled her eyes, her spoon scraping as she tipped her bowl to collect every drop of the supposedly gross milk. Dumping the bowl in the sink, she headed for the door.

Hey, wait up, Sass, said Joe. We need to talk.

She turned in the doorway, her stance, as well as her face, signalling impatience. Why?

You’ve been suspended from school, Sass! he said, maintaining his cool with some effort. He was supposed to be the grown-up after all. We need to work out where to go from here.

I’m going to have a shower, Dad, she huffed. Like you expect me to stay in my PJ’s all day? she called, as she marched out of sight.

She even sounded indignant to Joe, which seemed a little unfair. Shouldn’t he be the indignant one? Never having been one to confide in his own parents, having effectively left home at twelve, he wondered if it was normal to be kept in the dark like this. It would seem that Lori had no idea that Saskia was unhappy at the expensive, private school her family favoured. Her father was on the board, numerous family names graced the honour roll. So, perhaps he wasn’t the only one blundering along blindly, feeling for clues to the motivation for Saskia’s consistently unacceptable behaviour.

The buzz and trill of his mobile was not usually a welcome sound, but on this occasion, it was a pleasing distraction from his gloomy thoughts. If only he could locate the thing. Delving around, he found it several pages back in the newspaper he’d been reading earlier. Seeing his brother’s name on the screen did little to improve his mood, and since he hadn’t heard from anyone in his family for over a year, he was filled with foreboding.

Hi, Rick, he answered. ‘What can I do for you?"

Joe, grunted his brother. The old man’s dead. Thought you should know. Funeral’s Friday. In town. Two pm.

Right, said Joe. Right, okay, thanks, Rick. Erm, what happened? Was he sick?

If you ever got in touch you’d know, Rick answered. Cancer got him. It wasn’t pretty.

Poor bast … poor man.

You can say it, Joe, his brother said. He was a bastard. Especially to you. But, also to Mum. I don’t expect you to come on Friday. Paul and John agree.

What about Luke? asked Joe, feeling shocked at his brother’s conciliatory tone. Completely out of left field. Joe had always believed that none of his brothers had any time for him, at all.

Ah, Luke’s like the old man. Don’t expect much of a welcome from him. But Paul, John and me, well, we’re sorry about what happened to ya. It wasn’t right. If you do come, we’d like to talk to you about stuff.

Stuff?

Things that went down when you were too small to remember. Stuff you should know.

Right, said Joe, slowly turning the words over in his mind and finding some kernel of hope. A vindication that he had been treated shabbily. A frisson of anticipation that finally he’d get some answers.

I’ll be there, he said. Saskia too.

Two

Pammie Smith carefully closed the screen door and made her way down the path to the gate. Bees buzzed in the lavender lining the brick walkway, and little birds darted from the terracotta birdbath under the flowering acacia as she passed. Most mornings, Pammie would pause by the rose arbour, sometimes sitting for a while on the garden seat beneath it to watch as the little wrens and finches braving her presence returned to dip and play in the water once more. This morning though, Pammie was feeling a little disturbed. Her mother, Roz, was grumpy, which was very unusual, and Pammie thought she didn’t look well.

Roz was the centre of Pammie’s world and she depended on her for everything, had done for the past thirty-eight years. Even as a child, she knew she wasn’t like others of her age. Roz told her that when Pammie was born, she didn’t get enough oxygen and it meant that her brain didn’t work like other people’s. She knew about oxygen, and she knew about birth, which was why she had to hurry now to check on the goats, as it was kidding time. Although Pammie hadn’t achieved well at school, she was very skilled at managing the goat herd, the milking, and helping with cheese making. Roz said Pammie was gifted at caring for goats.

Breathing in the fresh acacia-scented country air and drawing that magical oxygen deep into her lungs, Pammie opened the little gate leading into the goat paddock and