It had been 20 years since we lost Tara, my heart still ached, her death remained a mystery to this day. My children were grown the time right; it was now or never. I needed answers I wanted to know why Tara had died, how Tara had died, I just wanted to tie it all together.
I would often pull out the dried up almost desiccated parcel of papers, all that remained of the once vibrant and larger than life woman. The most precious of all was the notebook she’d had with her on the island where she disappeared. I’d read it and re-read it over the years, hoping to find something I’d missed.
And that note to me, the most bizarre of all. She’s asked me to find some papers and write Tanby’s story.
What did that even mean? I knew very little about this Tanby, a few snippets in conversation with Mum, to be honest, I had no idea who she was or if she was even real.
Oh well, the decisions had been made I was off to Australia, to the armlet in Pinjarra, Western Australia. I was finally going to honour a request made years ago by my mother.