The Golden Child Read online

  Sarah ignores the question. ‘Well, I’m real sorry to have to be the one to break the news.’ It is difficult to imagine her sounding less sorry.

  ‘Break the news? What do you mean? What’s happened?’ Beth’s heart begins to race uncomfortably.

  ‘It was Arya Stannard. You know, she’s new in the sixth grade? In the other class? Mrs Reardon’s class? She’s only a little girl, dark-haired.’

  ‘Oh, dear. What happened?’ Beth can’t picture this Arya at all, is certain she’s never heard of her, is mildly glad that, whatever it is that’s happened, they’re not discussing some child she knows or can picture.

  ‘She was . . .’ There is a long pause, a dramatically indrawn breath. ‘She was poisoned.’

  ‘Poisoned? Oh my God! How? Is she okay?’

  Again the pause.

  ‘She seems to be fine. Luckily, they got her to hospital in time. The principal was very good.’

  ‘What sort of poison? Was it a cleaning product or something?’ Beth imagines the caretaker or perhaps the gardener leaving some solvent or fertiliser around, but can’t imagine how a sixth-grader would be so silly as to ingest it.

  ‘It was an oleander leaf. She chewed on it?’

  ‘An oleander leaf? Good lord. Why?’

  ‘For a dare, apparently.’

  ‘For a dare? For goodness sake, who would dare her to do such a thing?’

  Another pause, lengthier, and then a voice filled with satisfaction.

  ‘Well, here’s the thing, Elizabeth.’ She enunciates all four syllables in a sweet sing-song. ‘It was some type of initiation test; you know the sort of thing? And Macey seems to think it was your girl’s idea. Your Charlie’s.’

  When the woman, smugly satisfied she has done her duty, rings off, Beth doesn’t wait for the information to settle, she doesn’t wait to discuss it with Dan, or even to think about it. She calls for Charlie to come immediately and asks her straight out what happened to Arya.

  Charlie shrugs, pleads ignorance. ‘Arya? What do you mean? Nothing happened to her.’

  ‘At school today. She was taken to hospital in an ambulance.’

  ‘Really? Wow! Someone said there was an ambulance but we didn’t know why. Arya was fine at lunch. What happened? Did she break her arm in gym or something?’ Charlotte’s surprise seems genuine, her concern authentic.

  ‘Apparently she was poisoned – something to do with eating oleander.’

  ‘Oleander? What’s that?’ Charlie’s face is blank.

  ‘It’s a leaf, Charlie. A poisonous leaf.’

  ‘Oh.’ Charlie’s eyes open wide. ‘Oh, no.’

  ‘So you do know what happened? Mrs Fuller just rang up. Macey’s mum. She said that Macey told her it was your fault, that it was your idea that Arya eat the leaf. That it was a dare.’

  ‘It wasn’t like that at all. I didn’t deliberately dare her to eat a poisonous plant!’ Charlie’s face is red, her jaw taut. It is rare, Beth realises, that she sees her daughter in any way discomposed. Over the last year or so she has developed an almost adult control of her emotions; she can’t even remember the last time she saw Charlie cry.

  ‘So what happened?’

  Charlie takes a deep breath. ‘It was a sort of test, for the gang. She just had to put some . . . weird stuff in her mouth. Just plants and other random things. We didn’t make her swallow anything. And none of it was meant to be poisonous. It was just a game, Mum.’

  ‘Just a game? Mrs Fuller seems to think it was an initiation to be in your gang. That doesn’t sound very kind, Charlie.’

  Charlie rolls her eyes. ‘It’s just what we do, Mum. It’s nothing. We’ve all had to do it.’

  ‘And was it really your idea?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Charlie has begun to look exasperated, defensive rather than worried. ‘I don’t actually know who thought it up. It could have been any of us. We’ve done it before, heaps of times. It’s just . . . it isn’t anything serious. Half the girls in the year are part of the gang anyway.’

  ‘And who’s not? Are there people you don’t let in? If they won’t play your game?’

  ‘It doesn’t work that way, Mum.’ Impatient now. ‘Some girls have different friends. I mean, Taylor Roberts and Georgia Barry aren’t part of the gang – but they’re idiots. And there’s Tina and Maria – but they don’t care.’

  Tina and Maria are the only two Hispanic girls in the class, and while there is no overt exclusion – Beth knows they have been invited to numerous parties over the years – the two girls still stick together, tend not to join in. But surely there is a great gulf between exclusion and difference: Tina and Maria’s mothers remain aloof from most of the other mothers, too. It seems patronising, wrongheaded, to insist that her daughter play with certain children simply in the name of ethnic diversity.

  ‘And the leaf? Where did it come from? I’m sure there aren’t any oleanders at the school.’ Beth thinks of the miniature oleander she potted last year and carefully nurtured to a late-season flowering as a reminder of her more tropical origins and is immediately apprehensive. ‘You didn’t take the leaf in, did you? It wasn’t from our garden?’ Even as she speaks she realises the unlikelihood of its being from anywhere else – oleanders aren’t common in New Jersey.

  ‘I did take some leaves, but I don’t even know what an oleander is. We just had all these random things, truly. Evie brought a chilli, Liza brought someone’s old toothbrush, Belle brought in a tube of wasabi. Rosie brought in some dog biscuits. Someone else gave her some dirt. I just had this bag of leaves.’ Charlie swipes at her eyes, her lips quiver, turn down at the sides.

  ‘But where did the bag of leaves come from?’

  ‘I don’t know. I think . . . I’m not sure. I think I just found them.’

  ‘What? How can you just find a bag of leaves?’

  ‘I just thought they were ordinary leaves.’ Charlie sounds slightly breathless; she won’t meet her mother’s eyes.

  ‘Well, where did you get them? Tell me the truth. I just want to know.’

  ‘Actually, it was Lucy. Lucy told me to.’

  ‘Charlie. How can you say that? I did not.’ Lucy speaks quietly from the doorway. She moves towards them, her expression serious.

  Charlie turns to her. ‘You did so. You were out in the garden, drawing. And when I told you about the game you said I should make her eat leaves. And then you gave me those skinny ones. I thought they were . . . what are the ones koalas eat? Gum leaves.’

  ‘I didn’t, Mum. I promise. I was out there doing that botany project. I’d collected a whole heap of leaves to draw and I said Charlie could have them. She didn’t tell me anything about what she wanted them for. If she had I would’ve told her it was a dumb idea. And I wouldn’t have given her any of the leaves. Especially not the oleander. I can remember you telling us they were poisonous when you planted it.’

  Charlie glares at her sister. ‘Lucy, you— ’

  Beth interrupts. ‘Look, it doesn’t matter. You’re not in trouble. Either of you. I just wanted to know what happened.’

  Charlie looks relieved. ‘I honestly didn’t know what the leaves were. Any of them. I didn’t have a clue they were ollie whatevers.’

  And then Lucy asks the question that Charlie hasn’t asked, the question that Charlie should have asked. ‘So, is she okay, Mum? The girl who ate that leaf? She’s all right, isn’t she? I’d hate to think she was sick from one of our leaves, even if it was an accident.’

  Beth lies curled up in bed, waiting for Dan, her flannelette pjs on, lamp dimmed, the thriller she’s reading opened invitingly on her bedside table. But she’s too tired to read more than a few pages, and is already half asleep by the time he gets home. It’s past twelve, and Dan is irritable and unresponsive when she says she needs to tell him something.

  ‘Can’t it wait, Beth? I’m exhausted. If it was that urgent why didn’t you call me at work?’ She wishes she had, or wishes she’d waited until morning. She is
sleepily content, and somehow it doesn’t seem all that significant now, just a silly schoolgirl prank. She tells him anyway, just the bare facts, without any editorialising, as he undresses.

  ‘Jesus Christ.’ Dan drops his tie at his feet, doesn’t bend to retrieve it. Just stands, his long, pale arms dangling loosely, mouth open, eyes wide. ‘Those stupid girls. She could have died. What were they thinking, sticking things in their mouths? At that age! They’re almost thirteen, for fuck’s sake. Not six.’

  ‘I think the point is they weren’t thinking, Dan. And the girl’s okay, according to what’s-her-face, Macey’s mum. Totally fine.’

  ‘Well, thank Christ for that.’ He crawls in beside her. Beth snuggles against him, listening to his heartbeat, breathing in his familiar tangy scent.

  ‘Should we be more worried, do you think? It isn’t great, is it?’ Dan’s voice is low but his anxiety is clear. She tries to reassure him.

  ‘There’s no harm done. She’ll learn a lesson from it. They all will.’

  ‘I guess. But maybe there is some sort of problem . . . maybe it’s something we need to discuss with Charlie.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know that there’s anything to worry about. It’s just typical peer-group silliness, surely? She’ll know not to do it again. Charlie’s fine – she’s better than fine, don’t you think? She doesn’t actually seem to have any problems.’

  ‘But don’t you think that’s a bit odd in itself? Don’t most kids have some sort of . . . issues? Uncertainties? Doubts? Do you think there might be something that we’re missing?’

  ‘Missing how? She gets on with her teachers, she works hard, she’s popular.’

  ‘But being so popular. Maybe she’s too popular . . . That can be a problem, can’t it?’

  ‘You think that’s a problem? Honestly, Dan.’ Beth giggles. ‘How neurotic is that? Half the time you’re worrying that Lucy only has a few friends and now Charlie’s too popular.’

  ‘Were you one of the popular kids at school?’

  ‘Well, no, but I wasn’t that unpopular, if you know what I mean. I was sort of in the middle. Like Lucy, I guess.’

  ‘I remember when I was a kid, the popular kids weren’t always the nicest kids.’

  ‘But that’s just—’

  He interrupts. ‘And what’s she doing running a bloody initiation for her gang, anyway? Did you ask her that? It sounds kind of . . . horrible. Punitive. Not the sort of thing I like to hear about. As if she’s some sort of little – what do they call them? – a nasty little Queen Bee.’

  ‘I really don’t think it’s anything we need to worry about, Dan. It’s not some kind of secret society, you know. And she’s not one of those mean little girls; everyone genuinely likes her. It really is everyone, you know – the kids and the teachers, too. Someone’s got to be at the top of the pile. She’s . . . she’s just different to us. She’s one of those girls – the ones we all wanted to be. Well, me anyway. I know it’s hard to believe, but I think she’s kind of . . . extraordinary.’ Beth can hear the little thrill of pride in her voice, doesn’t try to disguise it around Dan.

  ‘Yeah. I know all that. She is special. It’s just . . . I hope she’s using her power for good, that’s all.’ He sighs and turns towards her, closing his eyes. She watches his face relax. He opens his eyes, gives a slow smile. ‘And I don’t know why you think it’s so odd that our daughter should be extraordinary. I’m pretty extraordinary too, you know.’

  ‘At some things.’

  ‘At lots of things.’ His hand moves down her shoulder, cups her breast. ‘At this sort of thing, anyway.’

  DizzyLizzy.com

  Where Did They Come From?

  Do you ever wonder where your kids came from? I mean, I’ve done the research – and I’m pretty sure I understand all the biological stuff. Which is handy. But who they are: therein lies a mystery. I suppose I understand my elder girl, L, pretty well – but only because she’s a bit like me. She’s quiet, dreamy, a bit uncertain, easily crushed by an offhand remark, a thoughtless gesture. But there are ways that she’s different, too: she’s calmer, kinder, more thoughtful than I can ever remember being. She’s interested in the world around her, good at school work, and she’s bright – but she’s not particularly competitive. She does her best, but it doesn’t faze her if others do better. She seems to have worked out the whole friendship thing without too much angst: she has one or two close friends and that’s enough. She’s just thoroughly together – in a way that makes me tear up whenever I see it in action.

  Then there’s C. She’s a completely different kettle of fish. She’s nothing like me – and nothing like her father, either. She’s one of those impossibly bright and shiny girls. She really is good at everything. Her academics are outrageously high; she’s captain of the hockey and the soccer and the swim teams; public speaking comes naturally. You guessed it: she’s a regular teacher’s pet.

  But the thing is, she’s popular too. Every morning when I leave her at school, a gaggle of girls rushes out to greet her; at birthday parties you can see the mood lift when she arrives. Sometimes, when we’re at some school or sporting do and she’s winning an award or commendation, D and I look at one another, proudly yes, but also with some astonishment, and I know we’re both wondering the same thing.

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  EXPATTERINGS:

  @AnchoreDownInAlaska says:

  LOL. You obviously worked out the biological stuff earlier than me! I don’t think I really got it until #4 son arrived;)

  @OzMumInTokyo says:

  Do they get on, Lizzy?

  @DizzyLizzy replied:

  They really do! Don’t know how I’d cope with fighters.

  @ExpatMum says:

  I love this post!! They are such a mystery: I’m amazed and awed every day. Keep on doing a great job ☺

  @BlueSue says:

  Our youngest was a real type A, too; she always won everything – all the academics, all the sports. But during her final years of high school she had a major breakdown; apparently she was pushing herself too hard. She’s fine now – after years of therapy, she has her perfectionism under control. But it’s definitely something to watch out for. And you need to be careful, too, that the quieter one doesn’t miss out.

  BETH

  AFTER DROP-OFF THE NEXT DAY – AND IT IS JUST A DROP-OFF, there is no exiting the car, no chatting to any of the other mothers – Beth rings the principal.

  ‘Mrs Mahony. How can I help you?’ Mrs Guterman’s voice is as low and pleasant, as always.

  ‘Oh, Mrs Guterman. It’s about the young girl who got sick yesterday. Arya. I was ringing to ask how she is.’ Beth’s voice seems suddenly very Australian.

  ‘Oh, yes. Arya.’ She pronounces it Ah-yah, not Ar-i-a as Beth had done. ‘She’s fine, Mrs Mahony. I spoke to her mother this morning and she was discharged from hospital last night with no apparent ill effects. They gave her charcoal, I believe, and the relief was immediate. It was only a short-lived discomfort, along with a moment of panic on our part when she showed us all the things she’d . . . tasted. One of the teachers recognised the leaf and knew its properties.’

  ‘Oh, I’m so glad. I was so worried.’ Beth is powerless to stop herself gushing. ‘I don’t know if you know, but apparently it had something to do with Charlie and her group.’

  ‘The initiation rite? Yes, we’re aware of that.’

  ‘And we think perhaps Charlie may have brought the leaf in from home. We have a little oleander that I planted last year . . . But she tells me she had no idea that the leaf was poisonous, or even what sort of leaf it was, of course.’ Her words sound defensive even to herself.

  ‘Of course she didn’t, Mrs Mahony. Nobody thinks that Charlie – that any of them, for that matter – knew that.’ She pauses, ‘But we are extremely concerned about this initiation business.’ Mrs Guterman’s voice has hardened, cooled.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing; just something they thought would be fun. You know
, girls that age.’ Beth tries for airy unconcern, but only manages bluster.

  ‘Yes. No doubt that was the intent, and they probably got it from some book or movie and it was all in fun. Nevertheless, Mrs Mahony, initiations and the sort of exclusivity inherent in those rites are not something we encourage at Brookdale.’

  ‘No, I’m sure they’re not. And it’s really not something we endorse, as a fam—’

  ‘This is something we need to take very seriously. I’ll be seeing the girls involved this morning, and talking to them about some of the issues.’

  ‘Oh, yes. That seems sensible. I’m glad that—’

  ‘And there will be – for the ringleaders, including Charlie – some sort of disciplinary action. They won’t be punished in the usual sense, but they will have to give up some of their time. I would like to make them truly understand the way their behaviour affects others.’

  Beth feels her stomach sink as if it were her, and not her daughter, who is in trouble. ‘But I’m sure they do understand. I know Charlie got quite a fright when she found out what had happened. I’m sure they all did. And I’m sure the incident won’t ever be repeated. And we’ll certainly—’

  Mrs Guterman again interrupts, but her voice is gentle. ‘Mrs Mahony, you’re possibly not aware of how much influence your Charlie has over the other girls. She’s a delightful child in so many ways and she’s smart and well-behaved. But your daughter has an exceptionally forceful personality. In fact she’s quite the strongest and most powerful among a cohort of girls who are all very intelligent and determined. We – the staff and I, that is – have been watching her carefully, and up until now her influence has always been . . . benign, even positive, I would say. But there have been a number of things lately – incidents in the classroom, as well as in the playground, some reported by other students – and now these rites of entry into what is effectively her group, and in every way that’s important, that group is undoubtedly under Charlie’s control. I think it’s time to talk to her. I’m going to be speaking to all the girls involved later this morning, and then I’d like Charlie to see Mrs Lopez, the counsellor here. I’ve scheduled appointments with her for the next few lunchtimes.’