Alexandra arched an eyebrow and waved away Pen’s apology. ‘Oh, don’t apologise. You should write a tell-all book.’
‘So, can you tell which marriages are going to fail?’ asked Nathalie, her body swaying very subtly, her eyes fixed on some distant place.
She is completely drunk, thought Emmie. She wondered if the others had noticed. Nathalie had begun on the glass of prosecco.
Pen cocked her head thoughtfully and pressed her lips together. She had the kind of lips made for bright red lipstick. As far as Emmie could see that was the only make-up she wore, and she’d never seen her without the lipstick.
‘Yeah, I guess so.’ Pen chewed on a dark painted nail. ‘Sometimes there’s just no emotional connection to capture in the photographs. It’s pretty clear when you’re capturing something real. And the sarcastic comments. If one of them is putting the other down in a sarcastic way the whole day I know it’s doomed.’
‘Oh God, I’m pretty sure that was me and Maxwell,’ Alexandra said, rolling her eyes. ‘Or maybe it’s only come on in later years now we’re sick of each other. I can’t remember.’
‘Oh, come on, he adores you. He’s always talking about you on air,’ said Nathalie.
‘But, you know, I’ve been wrong. Relationships are weird beasts,’ Pen said.
‘Or wild beasts, in the case of my husband,’ Emmie said. Everyone looked at her. She swallowed and felt a trickle of perspiration run down her back. Why did I say that? It was really too early in their friendship.
She made an awkward hand gesture and wobbled her head in a way that she assumed made her look like a crazy person. The irony of the fact that she couldn’t fall pregnant was not lost on her.
‘Don’t know why I said that.’ Emmie hid behind her glass.
Alexandra’s eyes narrowed. ‘Your husband a bit of a wild thing, is he? Go you.’
Nathalie shot Emmie a smile, as though she intuited her awkwardness. ‘How’s your novel coming along?’
‘Good, good,’ Emmie said touching the nape of her neck and averting her eyes. It’s not a novel, it’s an Instagram account and your picture is on it. And that one photo has got me more likes and follows than anything I’ve ever posted before.
‘What’s it about again?’ Nathalie asked.
Emmie froze, not knowing what to say. Her mouth twitched but could not find the words.
‘Let’s hope the wild husband,’ said Alexandra with a sly smile.
At that moment the waiter brought out two pizzas and a large bowl of sweet potato chips and another of salt and pepper squid. Everyone murmured appreciatively at the carb-fest and Emmie breathed a sigh of relief that the focus was no longer on her.
CHAPTER 12
Alexandra
Alexandra snuck a look at Emmie, sipping politely on her prosecco and cutting up a piece of pizza with her knife and fork. She wouldn’t have picked her as someone who was still having wild sex and had a functioning relationship this far into marriage and kids. She was awkward and self-conscious, prone to babbling to fill up silence. And yet Alexandra realised with a shock that she was jealous of Emmie. How on earth did you keep that kind of connection with another person going for so long without the resentment eating you up? Sex for her and Maxwell felt like another thing to be ticked off on the ‘to do’ list. And if it was suffused with anything more than that, it was simply a need to be met. Alexandra felt uneasiness shift inside her once again. You could have had more. If only you’d listened to what you really need. What you really desire.
‘So, how’s work? Is that woman who gave me her scarf still coming in to buy half the shop?’ asked Nathalie.
Alexandra waved a hand, trying to look nonplussed. ‘Oh, not as much. Must have reached her budget limit.’
Macie was still coming in every second day. She wasn’t sure why she’d lied about that. She had come into the shop today and Alexandra had felt the hairs on her arms rise, as usual.
‘What can I help you with? Thought any more about the lamps for the lounge?’ Alexandra was always the first to speak. Macie had a self-possession that unnerved her and made her over-talk. ‘Isn’t it a divine day?’
Macie ran her fingers along the grain of a custom-made timber dining table. ‘Yes, gorgeous sunshine.’ Today she was wearing a long pale blue dress that showed off her milky skin. She shot Alexandra a smile. Those braces had certainly been worth it. She had the straightest teeth. ‘Oh, I’m not here to talk shop for once. I wanted to ask a favour.’
Alexandra felt her heartbeat accelerate a little. This sounded personal. Their conversations always revolved around fabric swatches and the measurements of sofas. This Alexandra could do, but apart from knowing each other’s names, there had been no talk of anything else that might have placed them once at the same school. Anything that skirted close to the unacknowledged truth between them.
Alexandra tapped her nails nervously on the counter in front of her.
‘I’m putting together a creative talk at the local art gallery where my friend works. She’s lent us this most amazing space. And we just lost our designer. It’s an all-women thing and I just thought of you.’
Alexandra’s hand went to her chest. ‘Me?’ It was the feeling, so ingrained from childhood. Being picked. Singled out of a line of others.
‘Well, you’ve basically decorated my entire home and everyone who’s seen it so far has been so blown away. I know you may not technically be a designer, but you’ve definitely got the natural eye to be a designer.’
Alexandra felt her chin wobble a little and she bit the inside of her lip to stop it. She was so used to feeling like a complete fraud. She had only got the job because Elizabeth, the owner, was friends with Maxwell’s boss’s wife. Everything she did felt somehow mediated by her husband. And now here was this woman who she’d spent a good deal of her adolescence tormenting making her feel acknowledged and worthy.
‘And you’re such a big personality. It’d be a cinch for you to get up and talk.’
Alexandra blinked several times and worried a ring on her finger. ‘Am I? Would it?’
‘You’d just have to talk a bit about your creative process and it’s a women in business talk, so a bit about that.’
She felt her face flush. She never went red, but her cheeks felt like they were on fire. She didn’t truly see herself as a creative person. It always felt like she was faking it.
‘Ah . . .’ She was lost for words.
‘It is quite soon though. Next week. Monday night. We’ve got an author and a winemaker. She’s providing the wine.’
Alexandra was so close to nodding, accepting this unexpected flattery, but something inside her shifted, uncertainty rising to the surface.
‘Oh, I’d love to, but I think that might be too close. Even with Maxwell giving me public speaking tips I’m not sure I could pull it off.’ She realised she’d never mentioned her husband to Macie. She watched her face to see the usual spark of recognition but found nothing.
Macie smiled. ‘I understand. But come along. It’ll be a great night. Good wine. I’ll shoot the details to the shop’s email address.’
Alexandra nodded. ‘Okay, great.’
Alexandra watched Macie turn and walk away. ‘Thanks,’ she said. She knew the other woman couldn’t hear her. But she couldn’t speak any louder. She felt the familiar stab of shame in her gut. An image flashed into her mind. Macie walking away from them all in the playground, her back and shoulders straight, even with the sticky mango skin and strawberry hulls caught in her curly hair. The chant Macie likes girls echoing, the cruel smiles curled on their lips. Macie never turned around. She just kept walking, as though their sniggers hadn’t sliced through her skin like sharpened knives. But Alexandra saw the very slight tremor along Macie’s shoulders. She should have done something. She should have stopped it. But she couldn’t. She hadn’t been strong enough. She hadn’t been able to face her own feelings. And now Macie was here, beautiful and gracious, and it was all Alexandr
a could do to stop the shame and regret from suffocating her.
CHAPTER 13
Pen
The four of them had outlasted the shiny young people, the candles on their table long extinguished, the wine bottles empty. The bustling boardwalk outside the bar had quietened and the moon had risen, a shiny puncture in the blanket of black. The only sounds were the gentle wash of the waves against the pylons and the soft clink of cutlery being cleared. The ocean had breathed a salty mist over the night and she felt enveloped in its silky cocoon. Pen knew she should probably say her goodbyes and go home. She had a wedding job tomorrow and she needed to be out of the house early. But the truth was, she was enjoying herself for the first time in ages. Nathalie had her head on Alexandra’s shoulder and Emmie was still chastely cradling a glass of red wine.
She had seen Nathalie and Alexandra in the playground and always assumed they were somehow stuck up because of the way they dressed, or looked. But that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Nathalie was drunk and giggly, which made Pen want to look after her and Alexandra had a dry wit that made her cheeks hurt from laughing.
Pen had seen Alexandra’s husband, Maxwell, on morning television. It wasn’t the kind of TV she watched, even though she was partial to crappy reality TV shows. He was handsome, in that bronzed, stiff Ken-doll, plastic-hair way. Alexandra was also super fit and toned, her nails perfect, her hair blow-dried to the kind of smooth straightness that defied wind. But there was something about her illusion of perfection that shimmered with uncertainty. And it was this that Pen found interesting. She found them all interesting. They were so different from her, but they all had vulnerabilities and wore their hearts on their sleeves. These were women she might just be able to be friends with.
They’d spent the past hour whispering stories of what little shits their children could be in the way only drunk mothers could. For Pen this was a revelation.
‘My boys once smeared sunscreen on my Turkish rug,’ Alexandra said. ‘It’s just as well the nanny found it, or I would have throttled them.’
‘Got a better one. Permanent marker on the leather lounge,’ Nathalie said, her words slurring and her eyes heavily lidded.
‘Nappy removed in the cot. Poo smeared everywhere,’ Pen said. They all made grimaces of understanding. She thought about the time that she’d found Will as a toddler lying on top of a friend, the other child struggling to breathe. That wasn’t the kind of story that you could share, even after several wines. Had that been the day everything had shifted? When it had become hard to feel love for him? No, it had been a one-off. He’d never done anything like that again. It was likely he had no idea the other boy couldn’t breathe.
She felt the familiar stab of guilt. All these women found their children frustrating at times. But from the way they spoke it went away and was replaced with love and a hopeless, endless affection that it seemed they couldn’t turn off, even if they wanted to. She envied this. She wanted desperately to feel what they felt.
‘So, I think we’d better get this one home,’ said Alexandra, smoothing Nathalie’s hair, who was dozing against her shoulder.
‘I’ll drop her home. I’m getting an Uber,’ said Pen.
‘No, no, you’re all coming with me.’ Emmie waved away their protests. ‘I drove.’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Pen, knowing Emmie would have to go out of her way to get everyone home.
Emmie pushed her glass away from her. ‘No problems. I’ve only had a glass and a half.’
‘You’re so good. Thank you and, hey, thanks for inviting me. I feel like I really needed this. Work has been non-stop and I didn’t realise that I hadn’t actually done anything nice for I don’t know how long,’ said Pen.
‘I have no idea how you do it. You’re a single mum working full-time and doing extra hours on the weekend,’ Alexandra said.
Pen shook her head and took a deep breath to calm the emotion building in her throat. ‘I don’t have a choice, unfortunately. There needs to be a roof over our heads and food on the table.’ She hesitated. Maybe it was the wine or just the warmth of the solidarity they’d all shared. ‘But I do feel bad for my kids. They don’t get the best of me. They get the stretched, exhausted mum who’s just cobbling everything together as she goes and hoping it won’t fall apart. But I feel like they know it kind of has fallen apart, it never was together, and that I’m making all this up as I go along.’ She felt tears prick her eyes and she brushed them away.
‘We all feel like that,’ said Emmie, her mouth pressed down in empathy.
Not all the time though, thought Pen.
‘That’s why we all need a holiday,’ said Emmie. ‘Pitching in to look after the kids, sharing the cooking. Not having to spell things out to men. We can even take turns having nanna naps.’ Her mouth drew into a thin line. ‘Oh yeah, it’s not happening.’
Pen squeezed Emmie’s arm. ‘We’ll make it happen somehow. This has been so nice.’
Nathalie was standing suddenly, and Pen realised she was going to fall. She braced the other woman’s shoulders and steadied her. She was really in a bad way. She felt a rush of affection for Nathalie, who was very possibly also not coping.
‘We can tell you’re an expert at this,’ Alexandra said. ‘Lots of drunk brides?’
Pen laughed. ‘Oh my God, yes. You should see some of the photos I get that never see the light of day.’
‘Slide night. You can bring them to our holiday if we ever get it, and we’ll all feel better about ourselves.’
I wish, I really wish, it was that easy, thought Pen.
CHAPTER 14
Nathalie
‘Are you sure you’re going to be okay with her?’ Nathalie heard Alexandra’s words, but everything was spinning, and she was so tired. She could just lie down right here. She felt her body falling but a strong arm was around her waist. Wait, where was she? Oh, a car park. How had they got here? Somehow her head was still in the warm cocoon of the candlelight. The rush of the sea was still in her ears. It was hard to concentrate on any one thing. Hard to keep her eyes open.
She felt Alexandra pat her head. ‘Goodnight, Sleeping Beauty. You’re going to have one hell of a hangover tomorrow.’
She realised she was in a car. Emmie’s car.
‘You okay?’ she managed to ask Emmie, who was in the driver’s seat, her hand on the ignition.
‘All good,’ said Emmie brightly.
Nathalie forced her eyes to open wider. Her lids felt too heavy.
‘Where are the others?’
‘Oh, I’ve already dropped them off.’
She must have fallen asleep. How embarrassing. She did feel a little bit less drunk, but tired. So tired.
‘You’re like an angel,’ said Nathalie. ‘So kind. So thoughtful. Driving me home. I can’t believe you’re not drunk and you’re sharing the holiday with us.’ She was babbling. She forced herself to stop talking and let her head rest against the cool glass of the window.
Emmie started the engine. ‘I really hope it ends up happening. We all deserve it. You deserve it. What, with three kids, I don’t know how you do it.’
Nathalie laughed but the sound was thin. ‘Yeah. This is me doing it.’
She glanced sideways and met Emmie’s eyes and she saw pity, plain and naked. She put her hands to her hot cheeks and tried to breathe. She felt nauseous and ashamed. She could feel herself unravelling, a spool of emotions that she couldn’t pull back.
‘I don’t know why I got so drunk. I’m so sorry.’ She let her hair fall forward so Emmie couldn’t see her face.
‘Oh, no. You just need a bit of a release sometimes. We all get it. Motherhood is hard.’
‘I’m pathetic. I can’t even keep my shit together enough to have a nice meal with friends without embarrassing myself.’ She could feel her face was wet and she wiped under her eyes and sniffed.
‘Please don’t say that. You know we all worship you. Everyone does. You’re so pretty. We all want to be you.�
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A puff of air came out of Nathalie’s mouth, like being winded by an invisible force from behind. Is that really what Emmie thought? That being pretty was somehow the answer to life’s problems? She wasn’t arrogant enough not to be grateful for being attractive, but it didn’t stop the pain. It didn’t make your husband love you enough not to cheat on you.
She looked out the window. It had begun to rain. She wanted to dissolve into the drops on the glass. She had no idea what time it was. Mike would be annoyed if it was late. The car stopped and she realised they were outside her house. She didn’t even remember giving Emmie her address. She did love her house. It was all her. Federation style with a sandstone base and an easy charm that the mess of three children didn’t entirely diminish. Sometimes, when all the children were asleep and she’d tidied the whole house sufficiently, she felt at peace, happy even. Being in calm, beautiful surrounds was such a luxury when you had kids. She could almost remember the person she used to be.
She knew she should get out of the car, but it was so warm and clean. She hadn’t had a clean car for as long as she could remember. And sitting here looking in from the outside she could almost see her life as Emmie saw it. Her lovely home with the stained-glass windows that dispersed rainbows of light into the lounge room on sun-drenched afternoons. How handsome her husband was. Three adorable children. Why couldn’t she stay here forever, looking at her life from the outside in, like a snow globe shining in the rain? The wet night glimmered as though someone had shaken the dome. Everything looked clean, new. As though she could start again. Wipe away everything that had happened to dull her life. But she knew it was an illusion.
‘Do you ever think about just getting in your car and driving and driving and not coming back?’ she asked into the dark glow of the cabin.
‘God yes. All the time. I remember when Seraphine was born, right after I’d come home from hospital, I was so tired I just wanted to run away so I could sleep for a million years.’
The Valley of Lost Stories Page 8