All she had learned so far in this second read-through was that Jeannie was a serial late payer of bills. All the invoices were red-topped. She looked at the bank statements again. Jeannie’s various wage payments appeared once a month, all so low. Sometimes there had been as little as twenty dollars in her account. How had she and Eliza lived on this? Olivia saw payments she had made to Jeannie for Eliza’s annual holidays. There were similar deposits around the time of Maxie’s holidays too.

She was about to put the bank statements back in the folder when she noticed something. She leafed forward through the pages, then back. She did a quick calculation, using Eliza’s age as her guide. From the time Eliza was born up until she was about twelve, there had been one or two large deposits a year. Sometimes as much as two thousand dollars, but usually less. After Eliza turned thirteen, however, they stopped. She checked through them again. No, she hadn’t missed any.

‘Maxie, did you ever deposit money into Jeannie’s account when Eliza was little? Before the holidays started?’

Maxie looked up from her googling and shook her head. ‘No. She’d never take any, remember?’

Olivia passed her the statements. ‘So what were these? Who was this?’

‘Mr and Mrs Quaker?’ Maxie suggested.

‘The dates don’t match. They died before Eliza was two.’

Olivia noticed a code beside those deposits. As Maxie went back to her own research, Olivia googled the code. It took some digging, but she discovered it signified that the deposit had arrived into Jeannie’s Australian account in a foreign currency.

‘I think I’ve found something,’ she said.

Chapter Twenty-five

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

The hostel was buzzing when Eliza returned after dropping Sullivan home from the zoo. She was glad she’d taken him. It had made him happy. It had temporarily stopped her troubled thoughts. But now, alone in her room, back came her anger and confusion towards Olivia and Maxie.

She’d had grandparents. She’d had a family. How could they not have told her that, in thirteen years? All those lonely days and nights and weekends she’d had. All the Christmases with Rose and her family, grateful to be there while quietly wishing she didn’t have to be. She might have been with her own family. It was suddenly unfathomable again.

She couldn’t stay in her room on her own. There was no radio or TV to distract her. Outside, she could hear voices, laughter, chat from the common room. She’d go out there. Pretend to be as carefree as all the other travellers had appeared to be as she’d walked past. The bar had been busy. Groups of travellers had been taking turns sharing songs via their phones. There even appeared to be an impromptu hairdressing salon operating in a corner of the café area.