The First Year

by Genevieve Gannon

  ‘I’m fine.’ Her words came out sharper than she intended as she turned away from him.

  ‘Sas.’

  Andy would never have expected Saskia to care one jot about rehearsal dinners or centrepieces or whether roses or orchids would make better bouquets. Hugh Delahunty had warned him no woman was immune to the insidious madness that comes from planning a wedding.

  ‘It’s as if all the flowers and the dress swatches give off some chemical gas that turns their brains into yoghurt,’ Hugh had said. Andy had defended her. ‘No way, not Sas.’

  But now she was staring at him as if too much time with gardenia arrangements had caused her grey matter to melt.

  He reached for her with one hand. ‘You’re being melodramatic.’

  ‘Melodramatic?’

  She thought of the puffy, pompous dress she would be wearing the next day and how she had sacrificed choosing her own gown to please Millie. She was tired of fending off criticism from her future mother-in-law and just wanted a little solidarity from her fiancé.

  ‘I need some air,’ she said and strode to the front door.

  When Andy didn’t come after her she felt rush of anger. If it had been up to her, they would have gathered some close friends for a quick ceremony at the registry, followed by a meal at Jim’s Greek Tavern. Somehow it had turned into a pageant, in which she had to wear the right thing and say the right thing in order to earn her place in the Colbrook family. And the one person she was doing it for didn’t seem to understand. She took a deep, shuddering breath, stepped through the door and slammed it behind her.

  Andy stood starring up the passageway for a minute, then calmly went to the coffee machine. Saskia had given up trying to repair the knob, which now sat on the benchtop in a milky puddle. Coffee grounds had spilled onto the marble. He swept them up with his hand and brushed them into the bin. He screwed the end of the spout back on, began brewing more coffee and wondered if he should go after her.

  In his experience with women, drama was usually calculated to provoke a response. It gave the man a chance to be gallant and repair things with a grand gesture. But Saskia wasn’t manipulative like that. He appreciated the apprehension she felt around his family, especially his mother. He wished she’d laugh it off the way she did whenever she thought he was being pratty.

  He caught the dripping coffee in a cup and drank it black. He decided he’d let her get whatever was bothering her out of her system. He could use the time she was gone to get some work done then they would be able to go straight to the rehearsal dinner. As family members filed in he’d whisper an apology in her ear. She’d squeeze his hand in acceptance and all would be right with the world. Yes, he decided, sitting down at the kitchen table with his second cup of coffee, that would make Saskia happy.

  Saskia was barging down their path with her jaw clenched and a look of wild anger on her face. She turned left at the end of their street and walked towards the main road. She didn’t know where she was going. She didn’t even have her keys.

  She could go to Randa’s house. Her maid-of-honour had confined herself to her study to get some urgent work done on her thesis before the wedding. My hijab brings all the boys to the yard: a study in modern Muslim women’s sexuality had been a twelve-month labour that had exploded into a whole new project when her honours professor had offered her a place in the doctorate program. But to go to Randa’s flat Saskia would have to go back inside for her car keys, and she just couldn’t look at Andy right now.

  A tram was snaking its way down Toorak Road past the stately mansions and heritage apartment blocks. It stopped and opened its doors. Without a thought, Saskia bounded up onto it and felt relief at being swept briskly away from Andy’s house.

  As the tram glided along she rested her head against the window. She rode all the way into the CBD, up the creaky corners and through the city’s heart where skyscrapers blotted out the sun. All the while Saskia counted Andy’s offences: his obsession with work; his gusseted family and their standards; his blinkered view of how they treated her while she was doing everything she could think of to make his mother happy. She chewed these thoughts over and over, releasing bitter juices that stewed in her stomach.

  An hour later she reached the end of the line. The tram changed tracks and began to roll back into the city, back towards Andy’s.

  Soon she would have to put on her dress and her politest smile so that a procession of Colbrook family friends could prod her and slap her flank like a mutt in a dog show. She squirmed in her seat. When Andy caught her off guard like he did earlier, she felt like she didn’t know him, and he became that stranger in a seersucker jacket she’d first spotted across a patio at a New Year’s Eve party.

  Saskia had sought out Randa and said, ‘Can we go now? This place is full of self-important clowns. Did you see the arse in the red-and-white candy stripes?’

  She hadn’t realised the arse was now standing behind her.

  ‘Ah,’ he’d said, leaning into the conversation. ‘But aren’t you glad the stripes help you know who to avoid? They’re like hazard lights for social occasions.’

  Randa had laughed and Saskia had blushed, speechless for once. The arse was tall. He had rowers’ shoulders and a disarming smile. Looking back, she realised she had begun to fall in love with him in that moment. But at times she feared they had rushed into things.

  The reception had been paid for. Relatives from all over the country were camped out in spare rooms or swish hotels. Saskia’s ribcage felt like it was shrinking, squeezing the organs it was supposed to protect. She leaned forward into the brace position and tried to get some more oxygen into her lungs. As she gulped for air a man cleared his throat.

  ‘Can I see your ticket, ma’am?’

  ‘Oh.’ Startled, she sat upright. A ticket inspector was looking down at her. Saskia’s hands went to her hip pockets. ‘I – I don’t have my wallet,’ she said, only realising the fact at that moment.

  The man frowned and swung into his routine. ‘It is an offence to travel on public transport in Victoria without a valid Myki card—’

  ‘I have a Myki card . . . I just don’t have my wallet with me.’

  The inspector resumed, undeterred. ‘You will be issued with a fine that must be paid within—’

  ‘But . . .’ Saskia was stuck. She’d been fined many times when she was younger. As a teenager she had taken pride in not paying her fare until she realised the inspectors seemed to relish dolling out fines to pierced teens. From then on she was always careful to make sure she had a ticket. When an inspector approached her she would pretend to be unable to find it, searching her pockets until the officer began to write up her offence. Just as they were about to hand her a fine, she’d whip out her card and smile. ‘Here it is.’

  She couldn’t do that today.

  ‘I’m going to issue you with an infringement notice—’

  ‘No!’ Saskia said. ‘I’ll get off now.’

  ‘I still have to fine you. It is an offence—’

  ‘But I didn’t mean to fare evade.’ Her voice rose. ‘It was an accident.’ It seemed so unfair. First the fight with Andy, and now this. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

  ‘Calm down.’

  This angered her more. ‘No, I will not calm down. It was an innocent mistake. I’m not a criminal.’

  Two other inspectors checking tickets noticed the commotion. They moved towards Saskia and the officer, who was once again trying to deliver his speech.

  ‘You have three weeks to pay the $240 fine —’

  ‘Two hundred and forty dollars?’

  A sense of injustice surged through her. Fines were annoying at the best of times, but with the wedding, she just didn’t have the wiggle room in her bank balance.

  ‘I’m going to have to take your details,’ the inspector said gruffly. ‘Let’s start with your name.’

  Saskia assessed the situation. A man in tweed stood and pulled the cord for the next stop.

 
; ‘Ah, I’ll spell it out for you,’ she said. ‘It has unusual spelling.’

  The inspector nodded and waited, pen poised. His fellow officers relaxed and returned to their duty. The tram was coming to the next stop.

  ‘My first name is S-A —’ She stood and casually slid her hands into her pockets. ‘S-Q-U-A . . .’

  The inspector’s head was down as he tapped the letters into the small screen.

  ‘T-O-O,’ Sas said, inching down the corridor. ‘The last letter is N.’ The tram had stopped and people were filing out. ‘It’s, um, Dutch,’ she said. ‘Now I’ll tell you my surname.’

  ‘Q-E—’

  ‘Q-E?’ The inspector looked up just in time to see her push past two teenagers and bound down the stairs.

  ‘Hey, come back here!’

  Saskia ran between the tram and the guard rail that shielded alighting passengers from traffic. The tram doors began to close. One of the inspectors lunged forward and jammed himself between the folding doors and forced them open.

  ‘Get her,’ he yelled.

  Saskia shot to the end of the rail where she became hemmed in by other passengers, choked in a group as they waited for the tram to move on. Behind her the inspectors bumbled hurriedly off the tram.

  ‘Excuse me.’ She tried to push through the pack. But it was no use. The traffic light was red and they were all trapped between the tram and the railing. Saskia hooked her leg over the metal bars and vaulted herself over the top, then dashed across the street, dodging cars as they zoomed towards the city.

  The guards followed, but Saskia was fit. She sprinted down the median strip in the middle of the road, watching for a break in traffic so she could cross to the footpath. One car slowed to let her by. The guards gave chase, waving their arms.

  ‘This is an offence under the Public Transport Act,’ one shouted.

  She reached the footpath and broke into a sprint. But she hadn’t counted on the St Kilda Road police complex. Two policemen were standing out the front with cups steaming in their hands. The ticket inspectors, paunchy and slow, saw them too.

  ‘Get her!’ one shouted.

  The policemen looked bemused by the scene unfolding in front of them. One tilted his head back. Saskia saw in his eye a look that said he didn’t like taking orders from mere ticket inspectors. But he put down his coffee and planted his feet as she ran towards him. His partner did the same. Saskia searched for an escape route. To her left was a sheer face of glass-fronted offices. To her right, four lanes of St Kilda Road with cars shooting along it in both directions. Over her shoulder, the ticket officers had slowed to a jog.

  ‘Stop her,’ one wheezed. ‘She’s in violation.’

  Saskia locked eyes with one of the policemen and made to run around their right.

  ‘Hold it right there,’ he commanded, his knees bent as if bracing for a rugby tackle.

  The other moved towards her.

  ‘Stop!’ He put an arm out, mimicking a barrier. Saskia bashed through it. The force of her body surprised the cop. He made an ‘oof’ sound, stumbled, and spun on his heel.

  She staggered forward, slightly winded by the impact. Strong hands clamped both of her shoulders.

  ‘You shouldn’t have done that. Come with me.’

  Saskia tried to shake the hands off but they held her fast. She was taken inside the police station.

  Now that the adrenalin was leaving her system she felt wretched and weak. Her fears were coming true. She would be arrested. Andy would realise he had made a mistake. Her wedding would be cancelled and Millie would tell everybody that she’d told them so.

  The policeman asked for her name and address. Saskia’s chest felt like it was caving in. After giving her details she said, ‘Are you going to arrest me?’

  The door opened and the ticket inspectors came in.

  ‘As I was saying, Miss Sasquatoon,’ the first inspector said. ‘Under the Victorian Public Transport Act it is unlawful . . .’

  Saskia blocked his voice out. He tore a slip of paper from a pad, handed it to her and told her she had three weeks to pay. She stuffed the fine into her pocket and scowled at him.

  ‘Okay,’ said the policeman. ‘Enough of this circus. You’re free to go. Is there someone you can call to come and pick you up?’

  Saskia knew what she had to do. It was after five o’clock.

  Twenty minutes later Andy ran through the station door and swept her into his arms. ‘Saskia, Jesus, what happened? I was going mad. I called everyone.’ He took off his jacket and wrapped it around her.

  ‘Are you okay?’ He kissed her forehead.

  ‘She had a run-in with some unpleasant ticket inspectors,’ the policeman said.

  ‘What happened?’ Andy put his other arm protectively around her. ‘What did they do to you? Did they touch you?’

  ‘Nothing, nothing.’ As Saskia clung to him her eyes darted to the police officer, fearing he’d reveal to her law-abiding fiancé that she’d narrowly avoided a criminal charge. The ticket inspector had told her, in a parting jab, that the officer she’d hit could charge her with assault if he wanted. The policeman had just rolled his eyes.

  ‘As long as you’re okay.’ Andy studied her face. Her eye makeup was smeared. She looked like she’d done twenty rounds in a ring with a boxing kangaroo.

  ‘Here.’ He handed her an ironed handkerchief. ‘Duck into the ladies and clean yourself up. Your dress is in the car.’

  *

  In their large sleigh bed the morning after the wedding, the fight seemed far away. Saskia trailed her fingers across her new husband’s chest. ‘You don’t regret going through with it?’

  ‘Are you crazy? I found a woman whose first marital decree was to demand a daily romp in the bedlinen. I’m ecstatic.’

  She laughed. ‘The arrangement expires at the end of the first year.’

  ‘Well then,’ he said, kissing her, ‘we’d better get started.’

  Day 2, Monday, October 13

  ‘Sign this, please.’ Andy passed Saskia a napkin from the airport cafe.

  ‘What is it?’ She squeezed her eyes shut as a yawn took over her face. They had risen at 3 a.m., dressed blindly in the dark and arrived at the airport for their 5 a.m. flight. As they had lifted their suitcases out of the cab the sky had rumbled with thunder. Heavy rain began to pummel the runways. When they reached the check-in desk a voice over the PA system announced the storm would mean delays. Now at 7 a.m., with four empty cardboard coffee cups upended on their table, they had their clearance time. Their honeymoon would officially start in one hour.

  ‘It’s our agreement,’ said Andy. ‘In writing.’

  The napkin was dated and headed ‘The First Year’. Andy had reserved a space for both their signatures and a clause indemnifying each party in the case of extreme sickness.

  ‘Very thorough.’ Saskia nodded approval, her eyes skipping over the terms. ‘At least once a day. Every day. For a year.’

  Below this was a pledge: ‘I will love you every day.’

  ‘And look,’ he said, lifting the top sheet of tissue paper from the second layer. ‘A duplicate.’

  He couldn’t help but grin as he showed her how the ink had seeped through the napkin. ‘We can each keep a copy.’

  She laughed. ‘You are such a geek.’

  He kissed her deeply. Despite the day’s pre-dawn start, he looked pressed and fresh in a new shirt and jeans Saskia suspected had felt the wrath of Millie’s iron. She let her gaze linger on his face and enjoyed the rush as a hit of love filled her heart and rippled out through her veins, so that even her fingers and toes felt its effects. His eyes were a shade darker than the commonest blue — the colour of a first-place ribbon. Andy possessed the sort of classical handsomeness that would withstand the passing of the years. She imagined that in 2050 he’d be turning grey heads and stopping Zimmer frames in their tracks.

  He picked up his second doughnut of the morning and bit into it.

  ‘Can I add a con
dition?’ she asked.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Breach of contract will be punishable at the discretion of the aggrieved party,’ she said as she wrote the line on the napkin.

  ‘The aggrieved party?’

  ‘Yes. Don’t laugh or I’ll aggrieve your toe with my foot.’

  ‘It’s a good suggestion, but I’m worried I’ve been exposing you to too many boring work events.’

  ‘I like going with you to lawyers’ things. And now to seal it with a kiss and a signature.’ She clamped his chin between her fingers, pulled his mouth to hers then began to write her name.

  ‘Wait, wait, wait.’ He stopped her hand. ‘We need a witness.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘It’s not a valid contract otherwise.’

  She tilted her head, amused. ‘Are you planning to sue me if I don’t put out?’

  Andy laughed. ‘How about them?’ He nodded at an older couple who had also amassed a pile of breakfast litter.

  ‘Excuse me.’ He was already at their table. ‘I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind helping me and my new wife. We’ve created a sort of insurance policy for our first year.’

  The woman’s knitting needles paused. ‘Remember our first year, Graham?’ She smiled at Andy and Saskia. ‘He was shocked to learn I wouldn’t have a hot breakfast on the table when he woke up.’

  Graham removed his glasses. ‘We both moved straight from our parents’ house to our first home. Eighteen, we were.’

  ‘We’ve heard the first year is tough,’ Andy said, drawing Saskia to him.

  ‘Yes, the first year is a big adjustment,’ the woman said.

  ‘That’s what this is about.’ Andy thrust forward the napkin.

  Graham read the text then he slapped his knee. ‘Ha! I wish I’d thought of this!’ He chuckled as he scrawled a signature on the napkin. ‘Good luck to you.’

  Andy and Saskia said goodbye and returned to their table.

  ‘You first,’ she said, sliding the paper over.

  He signed his name in neat cursive: Andrew B. Colbrook. She scribbled her signature: Saskia Hill.