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Authors: Megan Norris, Elizabeth Southall
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and felt close to her teacher at that school, but Rachel had left with unhappy memories.
Rachel received counselling after she left that dance school and when she joined her new school, its artistic director Dulcie was probably the one whose advice helped her the most to move forward. She told Rachel that regardless of how she felt about her teacher now, she was an excellent teacher. If it hadn’t been for her, Rachel probably would not have been so technically good – so graceful a dancer. Rachel had a lot to thank her for.
It was necessary, said Dulcie, for Rachel to resume classical training, even though the dance school’s emphasis was predominantly training for stage musicals. Classical classes were the basis for all professional dancing. In the fourteen months that Rachel attended her new dance school, she regained her self confidence and was beginning to acknowledge her love of classical dance as well.
On the way to Malvern, Mike noticed a young girl standing at a bus stop. She stepped aboard a bus and the bus drove away.
‘Did you see that girl?’ said Mike urgently.
The girl was wearing black dance pants, a blue top and carried what appeared to be the same dance bag Rachel had. She wore her hair like Rachel’s and was about the same height.
‘Follow the bus,’ said Mike.
Silly, really. We followed this bus from the corner of Malvern Road and Orrong Road through to Caulfield North, the inner suburban areas. Every time we got near the bus we would get caught by a traffic light or the bus would take off. Eventually Mike ran after the bus, banging on the side to catch the driver’s attention. I saw Mike talking to the driver and was surprised Mike was permitted to go and check. It was not Rachel. I could see the disappointment on his face.
I was unlucky at the dress shop in Malvern but they did say their factory outlet in Bridge Road, Richmond, of all places, might have the top I was after. I went back to Books In Print to speak to my work colleagues, only to discover Mike was there, frantically trying to locate me. He’d had a call from the police, at our house, to say they had found a possible runaway note in Rachel’s bedroom. Could we meet them at the station in about half an hour?
I was stunned. Total disbelief, relief, denial … what now?
My mother had not liked the attitude of the detectives, but I think at first they were annoyed by our absence. Mike’s parents were just leaving when they arrived and the police asked where we were. ‘Where you’d expect them to be,’ answered my mother-in-law, Rose. ‘Out searching for Rachel.’
Apparently they spent a long time in Rachel’s room, coming out once to ask about a bottle of tablets they’d discovered. My mother explained they were hers – she was sleeping in Rachel’s room.
We drove to the police station with apprehension.
‘Michael, I don’t believe this.’
‘I’m finding it difficult to grapple with too,’ answered Mike. ‘But maybe it’s what we should hope for. Even if we don’t want to believe it. It gives us hope she’s still alive.’
The detective senior sergeant was not there on our arrival.
We waited.
Eventually the glass security door opened and we were asked to follow him upstairs.
The detectives had found what they considered were two notes written by Rachel, indicating that she had planned to run away.
The first said, ‘Station, Go to Manni, $50-$80, 3 special things.’
The second said, ‘Running Away.’
‘Where did you find these notes?’ I asked.
On the back of stapled sheets relating to her modelling course back in November, we were told.
‘They’re four months old,’ I said. Not believing this furphy for a moment.
This did not convince the detectives.
Mike explained that while Rachel had attended the two-week modelling course she had arranged for Manni to collect her because of her uneasiness about public transport. They would travel to Richmond together on a tram which departed from
Rachel received counselling after she left that dance school and when she joined her new school, its artistic director Dulcie was probably the one whose advice helped her the most to move forward. She told Rachel that regardless of how she felt about her teacher now, she was an excellent teacher. If it hadn’t been for her, Rachel probably would not have been so technically good – so graceful a dancer. Rachel had a lot to thank her for.
It was necessary, said Dulcie, for Rachel to resume classical training, even though the dance school’s emphasis was predominantly training for stage musicals. Classical classes were the basis for all professional dancing. In the fourteen months that Rachel attended her new dance school, she regained her self confidence and was beginning to acknowledge her love of classical dance as well.
On the way to Malvern, Mike noticed a young girl standing at a bus stop. She stepped aboard a bus and the bus drove away.
‘Did you see that girl?’ said Mike urgently.
The girl was wearing black dance pants, a blue top and carried what appeared to be the same dance bag Rachel had. She wore her hair like Rachel’s and was about the same height.
‘Follow the bus,’ said Mike.
Silly, really. We followed this bus from the corner of Malvern Road and Orrong Road through to Caulfield North, the inner suburban areas. Every time we got near the bus we would get caught by a traffic light or the bus would take off. Eventually Mike ran after the bus, banging on the side to catch the driver’s attention. I saw Mike talking to the driver and was surprised Mike was permitted to go and check. It was not Rachel. I could see the disappointment on his face.
I was unlucky at the dress shop in Malvern but they did say their factory outlet in Bridge Road, Richmond, of all places, might have the top I was after. I went back to Books In Print to speak to my work colleagues, only to discover Mike was there, frantically trying to locate me. He’d had a call from the police, at our house, to say they had found a possible runaway note in Rachel’s bedroom. Could we meet them at the station in about half an hour?
I was stunned. Total disbelief, relief, denial … what now?
My mother had not liked the attitude of the detectives, but I think at first they were annoyed by our absence. Mike’s parents were just leaving when they arrived and the police asked where we were. ‘Where you’d expect them to be,’ answered my mother-in-law, Rose. ‘Out searching for Rachel.’
Apparently they spent a long time in Rachel’s room, coming out once to ask about a bottle of tablets they’d discovered. My mother explained they were hers – she was sleeping in Rachel’s room.
We drove to the police station with apprehension.
‘Michael, I don’t believe this.’
‘I’m finding it difficult to grapple with too,’ answered Mike. ‘But maybe it’s what we should hope for. Even if we don’t want to believe it. It gives us hope she’s still alive.’
The detective senior sergeant was not there on our arrival.
We waited.
Eventually the glass security door opened and we were asked to follow him upstairs.
The detectives had found what they considered were two notes written by Rachel, indicating that she had planned to run away.
The first said, ‘Station, Go to Manni, $50-$80, 3 special things.’
The second said, ‘Running Away.’
‘Where did you find these notes?’ I asked.
On the back of stapled sheets relating to her modelling course back in November, we were told.
‘They’re four months old,’ I said. Not believing this furphy for a moment.
This did not convince the detectives.
Mike explained that while Rachel had attended the two-week modelling course she had arranged for Manni to collect her because of her uneasiness about public transport. They would travel to Richmond together on a tram which departed from
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