The Model Wife

by Tricia Stringer

  Sean huffed behind her. “You know Sarah. She can shoot her mouth off before she’s thought it through. I’m sure she’ll be on the phone apologising before the night’s out.”

  “Mmm.” Kate still couldn’t look him in the eye.

  He kissed the back of her neck. “She’ll have forgotten about it by the next time you see her.”

  “Probably.”

  “I’m starving.” Sean moved away and opened the fridge again. “What will we eat?”

  “There’re still some chops. I’ll toss a salad.”

  “I’ll cook the meat on the barbecue.”

  “It’s my turn to cook.”

  He came back to her and put a hand on each of her arms. Even though she was tall, Sean was a good head taller than her. “We’re both done in. I’ll cook the chops, you make the salad.” He kissed her forehead. “Let me have a shower first.”

  “Okay.”

  “And don’t worry about Sarah. It’ll blow over,” he called over his shoulder as he left and she continued to stare at the space where he’d been.

  She hadn’t argued with Sarah, in fact she’d hardly said a word once they’d settled in their favourite cafe. No sooner had the waiter taken their order than her friend had burst forth with news that had cut Kate much deeper than any squabble. Sarah had announced she was pregnant. Kate knew shock must have registered on her face before she’d made the obligatory congratulatory noises. Evidently Sarah and her husband Rick had been going through IVF. Kate had been stunned by that. She and Sean couldn’t have children and neither could Sarah and Rick, until now.

  Her best friend had supposedly decided against IVF as had Kate and Sean. Aside from the cost and the intrusion, it hadn’t been such a hard choice for Kate. She’d never felt the maternal tugs at her heartstrings that many of her friends talked about. When she nursed their babies she was always relieved if she managed to last five minutes without making the often-squirming bundles cry and then she happily handed them back.

  But still, it had sent Kate’s world spinning to see her close friend, the one she’d thought understood and even shared her lack of interest in having a child, bursting with excitement with the news that she was well on her way to producing a baby and after only one round of IVF. A procedure she hadn’t even mentioned she was having. Kate had been stunned, shocked and, if she was honest, hurt. Now she and Sean would be the only childless couple in their circle of friends.

  She knew Sean would say it didn’t matter. He had enough nieces and nephews he adored but Kate was already an outsider. She’d only moved to the district six years ago to live with Sean. It was a small community, not unlike the one she’d left: conservative, not always tolerant of newcomers and differences. Some of the older members of the community had been asking them for years when they were going to have a baby and there were others who thought it; she could tell by the way they skirted around the topic when it was raised.

  She and Sean had had tests early in their marriage. He’d been keen to start a family then and she’d gone along with it without thinking it through. He’d been worried when no babies came; she’d been secretly relieved. The results showed his sperm had low motility and her womb was tilted. Not a total disaster, the doctor said couples had overcome those odds before, but conceiving a child would be more difficult. As Sean joked, put his slow swimmers in her lopsided pool and there was trouble making babies.

  The doctor had said nature could still take its course or they could be candidates for IVF, but Kate knew, after all the tests they’d already been through, that IVF wasn’t for her, just like she felt sure motherhood wasn’t right for her. She and Sean had talked of nothing else for weeks. He wasn’t keen on IVF either. They’d agreed they could live with being childless although Kate thought he secretly hoped the doctor was right in saying they could still conceive. He’d suggested they not use contraception and she’d agreed and nothing had happened. Kate hadn’t given babies a thought for years but Sarah’s excitement had thrown her. Not only was Kate’s womb tilted but her emotions were too. What if she one day regretted not having tried harder? What if Sean did?

  She dragged herself to the fridge. The simple task of making a salad seemed all too hard. Between her friend’s exuberant revelling in motherhood and the long hours she’d been working, Kate felt tired to her core. Sean’s phone rang in the distance, propelling her from her lethargy. Surely she could make a simple salad.

  They were both quiet over dinner. Kate couldn’t bring herself to tell her husband Sarah and Nick’s happy news. The television played to itself in the lounge behind them.

  “What’s on the agenda for you tomorrow?” She tried to rustle up some enthusiasm as she reached for his empty plate.

  Sean stopped her and collected the plates himself. “Cleaning trucks and paperwork.”

  She groaned.

  “After that I’ve got a few days off.” He stood beside her, the plates in his hands. “How about a break to the beach?”

  Her spirits lifted at the thought. His parents owned a shack about two hours’ drive away. It was isolated and fronted a white sandy beach washed by aquamarine water that could outdo any Queensland holiday brochure, except for the lack of year-round warmth. “Just us? That would be lovely.”

  Sean took the plates to the sink. “It won’t be just us.”

  Kate studied his back, waiting for him to turn around. He was the youngest of Mary and Tom Brock’s three sons. His parents and his two married brothers all lived in town. When his dad had sold the farm all those years ago he’d also bought the small beach shack. Perhaps one of the other families were going. She got on well with her in-laws. The thought of a few days relaxing at the beach lifted her spirits. Sean clattered the plates in the sink and turned on the water. She got up and took a tea towel from its hook. “Who else is going?”

  His shoulders were hunched over the sink. Froth bubbled up past his wrists; he always used too much dishwashing liquid. He turned to her, his brow wrinkled and his face twisted as if he was in pain.

  “Oh, no.” She backed away from the sink.

  “It’s just a weekend.”

  “Not Damo?”

  Sean’s face screwed up tighter. “And Shortie.”

  Kate shook her head. “No way.”

  “Damo rang as I was getting out of the shower. Shortie’s had a bust-up with his girlfriend.”

  “Why am I not surprised? If they spent less time with each other and more time with their women maybe they’d keep a girlfriend for longer than five minutes.”

  “They want to get away for a few days.”

  “Shortie’s a loose cannon, Sean. You know we don’t get on.”

  “I know.” He raised his hands in the air and water dripped down his arms and onto the floor. “But he’s Damo’s mate and Damo’s my mate.”

  “He’s not always the most reliable either.” Kate had never really forgiven Damo for the spray tan he’d organised for Sean at his bucks night before their wedding. It was almost five years ago but Kate was reminded of it every time she looked at their wedding photos.

  “Just a few days fishing and drowning our sorrows.” He was watching her intently.

  “And you really thought I’d like to be included in this…this…” She waved the tea towel in the air. “Bonding weekend.”

  “It’s been a tough couple of months. We could do with a break.”

  The fight slipped out of her in a long sigh. “I know, Sean.” She swallowed her disappointment that he was spending their first free weekend in months with Damo instead of her.

  “You need a break too.” He pulled her in close, the wet from his hands soaking through her thin shirt. She nestled closer, not caring, then suddenly found herself at arms’ length with Sean smiling like a Cheshire cat.

  “Why don’t you go home?” he said.

  “I am home.”

  “To your parents. Didn’t you say Laura was heading there this weekend?”

  “Yes, but it’s a five-hou
r drive for me.”

  “Stay the week. I’ll only be gone for the weekend and my runs next week are to Victoria again.” Sean’s look was eager. No doubt it would appease his conscience if she didn’t simply stay home alone while he went off with his mates. “You could leave tomorrow, come back when you’re ready next week.”

  He was warming to his idea and so was she.

  “I don’t know about tomorrow.”

  “Might as well.”

  Kate thought about the mountain of grotty work clothes in the laundry and their sheets and towels that she hadn’t changed in over a week. His mum hadn’t been well and Kate had worked almost as long hours in the office as Sean had on the road these last two weeks. They shared a lot of household jobs but washing clothes wasn’t often on his agenda.

  She nestled against his chest again, her ear pressed to his shirt, listening to the comforting thud of his heart. Sean was a good man. If only his warmth could shake the heavy weight that dragged at her shoulders. Going home to her family might be just what she needed. Kate longed to sit at the big table in her mother’s kitchen and talk. Laura would be there to make her laugh, and she found herself even keen to see Bree, who could be so prickly, and her parents. Her dependable father and her mum, who was always reassuring with her words of wisdom. It was Natalie who held everything together. She’d never really told her mother too much about the fertility issues and their lack of desire in that department. Her mother had never said anything about wanting grandchildren but maybe it was a topic that needed to be discussed before she did.

  “I think I will go home,” Kate mumbled into his shoulder. “Surprise them.”

  Three

  Natalie was aware of the tall young man who slipped through the classroom door and propped his butt on the overflowing games cupboard, arms folded over his thin chest trapping the navy-and-red striped tie against the white of his shirt. She didn’t make eye contact with him, conscious only of his stiff presence in her classroom. She glanced around the class, glad to note all faces were still locked on the boy at the front of the room.

  Joel Fanning had the floor and every one of his year three cohort was hanging on his words. Since he’d first entered her classroom at the start of the year he’d found it difficult to settle. This was the first time she’d seen him still and focused for longer than five minutes and it was halfway through term two.

  “So the difference for my grandpa was…” His voice faltered, the bravado that had enabled him to speak out ebbing away. Natalie held her breath. Perhaps she shouldn’t have let them go down this path of comparing floods to bushfires, what was the same, what was different, but it was the first time the whole class had been engaged in a topic this year and so she’d run with it. It had developed from NAPLAN practice, not the topic that Paul Brown, the new principal now observing her class, had instructed her to do but the object of the exercise was the same. The annual test was done for this year, only a couple of weeks ago, and her class deserved the chance to explore topics they were interested in.

  She studied Joel as he took a deep breath and then another. The young boy had just poured out how his family had been trapped on their property by a bushfire just before last Christmas. They’d lost everything, including his grandfather, and now he seemed to have lost his voice.

  His thin shoulders lifted and his dark eyes searched out Natalie and held her gaze, and she saw his strength return. “Maybe if it had been a flood he could have got away, Mrs King.” His voice was steady, his tone low.

  She wavered a moment, disquieted by the principal’s presence, then she gave her brave young student a reassuring smile. His mother had told her he never spoke of the fire or his grandpa. “That certainly may have made a difference, Joel. He was a fine man, your grandpa, I’m sure he would have done his best.” The whole community had been devastated when the experienced CFS volunteer had become trapped by the fire and lost his life.

  A soft rustle rolled around the room, a subtle shifting in seats, a rub of a cheek. The sharing of their experiences of bushfires had been an intense forty minutes. From the corner of her eye she saw Paul unfold his arms, straighten as if he was going to say something then sag against the cupboard again.

  The sharp tones of Annalisa Drummond cut the silence. “Floods can be bad too.”

  Natalie stood up and gave the little girl a reassuring smile. “Yes, Annalisa, your family’s loss was also very sad and had many similarities.” It had been three years since the flood in their district, which had been another local tragedy. Several other children began to talk. “We’re going to hear from those people with flood stories next week. Would you be happy to wait and share your story then?”

  Annalisa’s face softened and she gave a nod of her head.

  Natalie glanced at her watch. It was nearly home time. They needed to end the day on a bright note and some more Roald Dahl would do the trick. “The room is already packed up. How about you all find a comfy spot and I will read one more chapter of The Twits.” The calls of delight were immediate, along with the crash and bang of chairs against tables as they each found a space on the floor with one of the many colourful cushions she provided for this kind of activity. She sat in her chair with them all gathered at her feet and opened the book, only realising then that Paul had slipped out of the room as quietly as he’d slipped in, leaving behind a judgemental air.

  The final siren of the day sounded and the classroom had no sooner emptied of children when Eloise, the new young teacher from the class next door, burst into her room, a stricken look on her face.

  “He came in again. He’s like the phantom; he appears out of nowhere, watches for a while and leaves.”

  Natalie knew she was referring to Paul.

  “It’s his way of keeping in touch with what’s happening in the classroom.” She tried to sound reassuring.

  “I’m sick of his spying. He can take over altogether if he wants.” Eloise’s lip wobbled and then a giant sob burst forth followed by tears.

  Natalie sat her on one of the student chairs, poured her some water and put a gentle arm around her shoulders.

  “You’re doing such a good job,” she said soothingly. “Paul’s learning to be a principal just like you’re learning to be a teacher.”

  Eloise sniffed and took a tissue from her sleeve. “No-one watches over his shoulder.”

  “Principals have their line managers too.”

  “Do they pop in unannounced every five minutes?”

  Natalie patted the young woman’s shoulder. She had a point and it was what Natalie had tried to talk to Paul about the last time Eloise had come crying to her after one of his visits. Eloise lacked confidence. She’d had to take over in terrible circumstances when her predecessor, Penny, had died suddenly. Penny had been a dedicated teacher, fair but firm, whose students had adored her and it was hard enough for Eloise to pick up the pieces, take over a class and find her way in her first job in a totally new community, without feeling the principal was scrutinising her every move.

  Eloise blew her nose hard and stood up. “I’m sorry, Natalie. I always seem to be crying on your shoulder. It was tricky with Emile today. His lack of English makes some lessons harder than others, and Tabitha wet her pants again. The other kids noticed before I did and a few of the boys teased her and it took me ages to get everyone back on track then Paul came in.” She took a deep breath.

  “Try not to think of him as judging you. He understands how difficult teaching can be some days.” Natalie spoke with an authority she didn’t feel. She wasn’t sure Paul did understand but she didn’t want to undermine him or Eloise.

  It was after four and Eloise had dried her tears and gone back to pack up her own room when Natalie’s mobile phone rang from the bottom of her basket. She turned back in surprise from the whiteboard she’d been cleaning. She usually kept the phone on silent. Thank goodness it hadn’t rung during class time.

  “Terry was only ringing to say the damned rolls of pipe and wire
had arrived.” Milt’s voice bellowed from the speaker before she’d even said hello.

  “Hello, Milt. How was your day?” she said gently.

  “One stuff-up after another,” he grumbled but at least his tone had dropped a few decibels. “What about you?”

  “Yes, all good here.” Her day in the classroom had gone particularly well until Paul’s visit and then Eloise’s tears.

  “Do you think you could collect the pipe and wire when you get the other stuff on the list?”

  “Yes.”

  Her phone beeped softly. She glanced at the screen. There was another call but an unknown number. “I’ll see you tonight,” she said and accepted the next call.

  “Mrs Natalie King?”

  “Yes.”

  “Mrs King, I’m ringing from the breast care centre. Last week you had a mammogram at one of our mobile clinics.”

  Natalie’s mouth went dry. “Yes.”

  “An anomaly has been found and we would like you to come to Adelaide for further investigation.”

  “An anomaly?” What did that mean? Was it a lump? She put a hand to one breast and then the other. Which one was it? She’d fronted up to the travelling bus for her two-yearly mammogram last week feeling confident there was nothing to find. She knew the drill; she checked herself regularly, her breasts weren’t dense, she hadn’t felt any lumps, there was no family history, she’d breastfed her three daughters, each for longer than a year. How could there be anything left in there when they squeezed her breasts so flat? She felt sick in her stomach and fear gripped her heart.

  “I realise you live in the country, Mrs King, but can you be here by tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “We like to call people back quickly…so they don’t worry.”

  Natalie wanted to ask how she was supposed to not worry but instead she scribbled the details into her diary. The call finished, the phone lay beside her diary on the desk as a million thoughts whirled in her head. Her knees were jelly and she lowered herself to her chair. She stared at the phone. She should have asked more questions. What did further investigation mean? Perhaps a biopsy? The woman’s parting words had been try not to worry and she’d disconnected before Natalie could gather her thoughts. What kind of help was that? Natalie looked down at her shirt, crumpled now from the day. Beneath it she felt the constriction of her bra encasing her breasts. They’d found an anomaly. She pressed her fingers to her lips. She had cancer.