This Has Been Absolutely Lovely

by Jessica Dettmann

  Molly looked at her mother, her big eyes bright with fear. ‘But, Mum, I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to tidy people’s drawers any more, but I haven’t got a passion like you do. A talent. What’s my version of your music?’

  ‘You’ll find it, darling. It might take you longer, but there will be something you want to do, that drives you and obsesses you. You’re so creative. You’ve always had that. Molly, you can do anything you want: you can sing, you can play music, you can draw, you can write, you can dance.’

  ‘Those things make people demented and miserable,’ Molly observed. ‘Things can be worth doing even if they’re not creative.’

  ‘Of course they can; I never said they couldn’t.’

  ‘Yeah, but it’s what you think.’

  Annie stared at Molly. This child, her last baby, was the sharpest person she’d ever known. She saw through everything and everyone. It was alarming to realise that for twenty-seven years Molly had been watching and observing everything she did. She was correct. Annie did believe creative work was the most important work. But that was normal and right. The whole world was set up to privilege — if not always financially reward — creative work.

  ‘I do think art is special,’ she admitted. ‘Art is extraordinary. It’s what makes us human.’

  ‘No,’ said Molly. ‘Our brains are what make us human. Language, morality, figuring out how to make fire — that makes us human. Art is icing. And making a living from art — being famous for your art — that’s more than icing. That’s those completely unnecessary icing roses people make. Or, like, I don’t know, fondant Winnie the Pooh figurines.’

  Petula was asleep now, Molly’s nipple still in her mouth. Her face was relaxed and she snored lightly. Annie and Molly stared at her.

  ‘I once made you a birthday cake with six fondant My Little Ponies on it,’ said Annie. ‘It took me days.’

  ‘I remember it. Thank you. It was a work of art. No one wanted to eat it.’

  ‘I did lots of that sort of thing. I must have been channelling my creative energy, instead of putting it into my music.’

  ‘You see, we did fuck up your career.’

  Annie sighed. ‘I just didn’t try hard enough.’

  ‘You wanted to be famous, and we buggered up that plan.’

  ‘It wasn’t about being famous — it was about the music,’ said Annie. ‘It was about sharing and communicating what I created with the world.’

  Molly raised one eyebrow. ‘That’s what being famous is. And that’s okay. It’s all right to have wanted that. But it doesn’t mean that wanting to do something that isn’t about fame isn’t important and valid too.’

  ‘No, of course, you’re right.’

  Molly tucked her breast back into her bra and pulled her T-shirt back down. Gently she shifted the baby to rest on her thighs. They both stared at Petula, splayed like a starfish, her chest rising and falling.

  ‘What if I’m like Heather?’ asked Molly. ‘How do you know I won’t do what she did, and just be completely selfish, live my life only for myself, and not care how that impacts my kid?’

  ‘Because I know you, Molly, and I know you won’t do that. You’re a loving person. You’re also not usually an anxious person, and feeling like this is freaking you out. But it will be all right. You’ll figure out what else you want to do besides mothering. There will be something. There might be lots of things. That’s okay too.’

  ‘Will you help me?’

  ‘Figure out what to do? Of course I will. Something will come along that grabs you and gives you purpose.’

  ‘No, will you help me with Petula? Please, will you help me look after her, so I don’t lose myself totally and never figure out what else there is for me. Even just a day a week or something? I’m sure you can still do your music too. And not all the time — you can travel as well.’

  Annie’s pause was short, but it was long enough for Molly.

  ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘That wasn’t fair. I shouldn’t have asked again. You already said no.’

  Chapter 34

  Finding psychiatric care for a not-quite-emergency patient on the twenty-seventh of December wasn’t easy. Annie thought Molly seemed fine, more or less, but she supposed that someone who was actually fine wouldn’t have left her tiny baby in the care of a complete stranger, gone wandering up the coast, and been found on the water’s edge near an incoming tide.

  That afternoon, Brian, Paul and Annie sat at the kitchen table, armed with their mobile phones and laptops, and tried to figure out what to do. The police had advised them to take her to the emergency department of their local hospital for assessment, but that seemed a bit over the top. The ED was going to be full of people having festive breakdowns or nursing injuries inflicted by family members in eggnog-fuelled rages. They didn’t think it was a good idea to take Molly and the baby into an environment like that. Annie thought that if they could just stay at home, take care of the baby a bit more, and let her get some sleep, either Molly would be all right in a couple of days or they could find a proper counsellor for her once all the public holidays were done.

  They were talking each other into that plan when Diana came in from the backyard, where she had been assembling a totem tennis set Santa had brought so Sunny and Felix could bond by taking turns to hit each other in the face with a tethered tennis ball or hard plastic racquet.

  ‘Have you found a doctor for Molly?’ she demanded.

  ‘We think we’ll leave it for a few days,’ Annie said. ‘It’s going to do more harm than good, taking her in to the hospital at this time of year.’

  ‘That is the wrong decision,’ Diana told them bluntly. ‘A mistake.’

  ‘She just needs some sleep.’

  ‘No.’ Diana was adamant. ‘You don’t know that. You are not qualified to make that judgement. Is it worth risking the safety of your daughter and granddaughter?’

  ‘Di,’ said Paul jovially, ‘she’s not psychotic.’

  ‘She needs to see a doctor, Paul,’ said Diana. She glared at them each in turn.

  ‘You’re probably right,’ muttered Paul.

  Jack came in, carrying Petula. He closed the door behind him and sat down. ‘Moll’s asleep.’

  ‘Jack, the police said we should take her to be assessed by a doctor,’ Paul began.

  ‘Absolutely,’ said Jack. ‘As soon as she wakes up we’ll go down to the ED.’

  ‘Do you think that’s the best idea?’ asked Annie. ‘Could we wait for her GP to open again? Or even until her hormones level out? Maybe it’s the baby blues.’

  Jack looked at her, aghast. ‘Baby blues is crying when you can’t do up the poppers on one of those bloody Wondersuits. Baby blues is not disappearing and abandoning your kid. I can’t believe you don’t think she needs to see a doctor immediately. It’s not like I’m asking you to take her. I’ll do it. You just don’t want there to be anything wrong with her because it would be inconvenient for you.’

  Suddenly Annie was shouting. ‘It’s not inconvenient for me. It’s terribly shit and sad and I don’t want this to be happening to Molly. And I realise this makes me the most selfish person alive, but I just want my kids to be well, and safe, and able to take care of themselves for once, because it is time for me to have a fucking break from all this —’ she flailed around for the word ‘— caring.’ She slammed both hands on the table, rattling the teacups in their saucers. ‘All this goddamn caring. Why can’t they look after themselves? When will they let me go? Jesus, I tried so hard to teach them to be resilient and to stand on their own feet and still they need me. Always.’ Tears were coursing down her face.

  Finally Diana spoke. ‘Annie. You’re her mother. That’s forever. She’ll always need you. Just like Simon will always need you, and Naomi. You’re the adult.’

  ‘I’m Molly’s adult,’ Jack interjected. ‘It’s me now.’

  Annie paused and looked at him, frowning. ‘Yes, of course, Jack, but I’m still her m
other.’

  ‘And Paul is still her father,’ he said. ‘But I’m her husband and I love her. If you don’t want to care about Molly any more, she has me.’

  ‘I didn’t say I didn’t want to care about her,’ said Annie, shamefaced.

  ‘You did.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t mean that, exactly. I meant care for her.’

  ‘If you want out, if you want to leave Molly to me, then you can,’ Jack said, looking her straight in the eyes. ‘I’ve got this.’

  Annie held her breath. Jack was offering her an open door. Could she take this chance? Of course not.

  ‘I’d never do that. I’ll be here for her. For you both.’ Annie slumped back in her chair. She was beaten.

  * * *

  Paul and Jack took Molly to the hospital that afternoon. When they drove off, Annie went up to her room. She sat at her mother’s dressing table and looked at her face in the mirror. Dust motes floated through the air, catching the light as they fell. She looked old and sad. She looked like her mother.

  She’d been kidding herself. Her songs were good, but the timing was wrong. Two thirds of her children were not very well. She could not, in good conscience, turn away from them now. She had already had years in which she could have forged on with her music. She should have been doing it all along. Why couldn’t she marry the two things? Focus on music and her family? Women were meant to be able to multi-task. Why did she have such a one-track mind?

  She needed to let go of the music. She’d missed the boat. That ship had sailed. How many more nautical metaphors were there for failure? It was time to ignore the new songs in her head. It would be like stopping breastfeeding. If she stopped letting the songs out, more would stop taking their place. They’d dry up eventually.

  At stake now were the futures of Molly’s and Simon’s families. They had fallen and it was Annie’s job to help them up, just as much as it had been when they’d stumbled over their feet as toddlers and come to her to blow the sting from their skinned palms and knees. Jack had said he didn’t need her to, but she knew he didn’t mean that.

  She would stay there, with Molly and Jack. Petula was a gorgeous little thing, and Annie should consider it an honour to be allowed to help with her. It’s what lots of people loved doing, minding a grandchild a couple of days a week. Molly desperately needed that help. She would be all right, Annie was fairly sure of that, but this time, this transition from not being a mother to being a mother was challenging, and she could help Molly through it. She owed it to her, after what she had done to her own mother.

  Perhaps Simon, Diana and Felix would stay nearby. It would be good to have more family around. Wasn’t that what people were always talking about? How wonderful multi-generational living was? Well, that’s what they would do. And it would work.

  Jane would yell at her when she found out. She would be very disappointed in Annie’s lack of backbone. But it wasn’t like that. She would explain to Jane how it was actually going to take more backbone to follow this course, not less. This was the road she didn’t want to take.

  Besides, probably no one wanted Annie’s songs. Briefly it crossed her mind that she could keep writing and singing and playing, just for herself, but she dismissed the idea. That would be too painful. She might even go so far as to get rid of the piano. Make a clean break.

  A furious disappointment burned inside her. That wasn’t helping matters and would need to go. She’d have to figure out some way to extinguish it. Yoga, probably. That must be why women her age became so deeply obsessed with yoga: they needed it to calm their tortured souls, which smouldered with the unfairness of their lives. It was worth a try.

  * * *

  Late that night, Jack and Paul brought Molly home, armed with a diagnosis of postnatal depression, a prescription for antidepressants, and the number of a psychologist to call in the new year. She also had gained the perspective that only comes from sitting in the waiting room of a public hospital around Christmas time. She had clutched Petula tightly to her chest as she watched a man having a psychotic episode being wrestled to the floor by two security guards, and she’d looked on while her father had helped an old woman up to the window to present her Medicare card. The woman was alone, and suffering from an ulcerated leg so disgusting Molly couldn’t imagine it wouldn’t be amputated by the day’s end.

  * * *

  After Molly went to bed, Jack and Paul joined Annie and Brian at the kitchen table, finishing a game of Monopoly they’d started at five o’clock with Sunny and Felix. The children had long since gone to bed, but Annie and Brian had played on, trying to make the game last as long as they could by lending each other money, forgiving debts, and generally behaving in a way that was entirely contrary to the spirit of the game.

  ‘Have the others all turned in?’ asked Paul, yawning.

  ‘Naomi’s next door with Ray and Patrick, and Simon and Diana are up in their room,’ said Brian. ‘We invited Simon to play Monopoly with us but he said he wouldn’t unless he could be the banker.’

  ‘You’re joking.’ Paul was aghast.

  Brian cracked up. ‘Of course I am. Sorry. Too soon for embezzlement jokes?’

  ‘A bit.’ Annie was weary. She felt like she hadn’t been alone for years. ‘Jack,’ she said, ‘how’s Molly feeling?’

  ‘A little bit better, I think. The doctor at the hospital was great. She took her seriously but also made her realise this is very common, and treatable. And we did the right thing by catching it early. Apparently this can slip under the radar really easily. People just soldier on, but they’re actually quite sick. So in a way, it’s kind of good that Moll fully cracked it and left Petula. We might not have realised otherwise.’

  It was a sobering thought. There were ten other people in the house and none of them might have noticed Molly was ill. Not even her own mother, Annie thought, feeling the same heat around her throat that she remembered from the worst months of menopause.

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s pretty competitive around here to get your woes noticed. It’s got to be high-level drama to register on our family scale right now,’ said Paul.

  Annie looked up. ‘I’m sorry your engagement got completely ignored the other day.’

  Brian smiled ruefully. ‘It wasn’t the best time to have announced it. I feel pretty silly. I didn’t know all that Patrick stuff was happening. Or the Simon stuff, obviously.’

  ‘Have you set a date?’

  Brian exchanged glances with Paul. ‘We sort of hoped we might do it before we go back to London. We only want a small wedding. Do you think . . . we might be able to do it here, in the backyard?’

  Annie vaguely remembered him asking her this on Christmas Day, but the request had been swamped in the breaking waves of revelations about Simon and Patrick. Now she considered it. Her ex-husband marrying her oldest friend in the garden of her parents’ home. Her father would have absolutely hated the idea. ‘Of course you can. When were you thinking? Isn’t there a notice period or something?’

  Paul looked sheepish. ‘You need to give a month’s notice, yes.’

  ‘Are you staying another whole month?’ Her heart sank at the thought, then leaped at the idea that maybe Paul was planning to stay on to help Simon and Molly sort themselves out.

  ‘No, we’re still booked to fly on New Year’s Day, so we thought we’d do it on New Year’s Eve! We just won’t be able to do the legal part. It’ll have to be more a commitment ceremony. We’ll do it legally once we get back to the UK.’

  ‘Hang on, hang on,’ said Annie. ‘You’ve waited nearly twenty years for marriage equality, and now you’re not even going to get legally married at your wedding?’

  ‘Ironic, hey?’

  ‘Very.’ Annie looked at the board. ‘Brian, your turn.’

  ‘Can I be on your team?’ Paul asked Brian.

  Brian smiled at him. `Always.’

  Paul rolled the dice, and moved their piece, the top hat, nine spaces. ‘Pall Mall. That’s yours, Anni
e. How much?’

  ‘Ten dollars. Do you want help organising the wedding? You haven’t got much time.’

  Brian and Paul exchanged glances. ‘Aren’t you going to be busy with your music?’ asked Paul.

  Annie took a deep breath and let it out. ‘No. I’ve decided to let that be.’

  ‘What do you mean? Not pursue it?’

  ‘Not pursue it. I’ve got a lot of things on my plate now. I don’t have the time or the energy to give the music thing a real go, so I’m going to put it to one side.’

  ‘But you will go back to it, once the kids are sorted?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But you must,’ said Brian. ‘It’s what you’ve always wanted.’

  ‘Brian, let it go,’ Annie said, her voice small and sad. She rolled the dice and moved her piece five spaces, landing on the corner where a stern police officer ordered her straight into gaol.

  ‘Bummer,’ said Paul. ‘Do you want to pay fifty bucks now, or try for a double next turn?’

  ‘I’ll wait and roll,’ she told him. She looked up at her son-in-law. ‘Jack?’ He was rubbing his eyes.

  ‘Yep?’

  ‘When Molly wakes up, will you please tell her that I’m not going anywhere? Will you say that I would be honoured and delighted to help look after Petula a couple of days a week? And I hope you’ll stay here in the house with me for as long as you want to.’

  Jack’s eyes filled with tears. ‘Thanks, Annie. That means a lot. Really.’

  She patted his hand. ‘Don’t mention it.’ She turned to Paul and pushed the dice across the board. ‘It’s your turn.’

  * * *

  When Ray died just after ten the next morning, Patrick was holding his hand and a gang of rosellas were shouting at each other in the garden. Naomi had dozed on the sofa all night and then, at Patrick’s urging, had gone home for a shower and to play with Sunny for a while.

  She had told him the end was close, and he could see that. There was more time between each of his father’s laboured breaths, and he hadn’t opened his eyes for more than twelve hours. It felt to Patrick like watching a spinning top gradually slowing, finally wobbling and toppling.