Hindsight

by Sarah Belle

  In the six weeks since the birth, my little girl has been a constant source of adoration and attention from all the neighbours and family members. Sylvia, Gran and Aunty Maeve are frequent visitors and everyone has knitted and crocheted pink outfits and pink blankets and sent along all sorts of items to help us out, including the famous ‘Spencer Street Casserole-athon’. Some of them are nearly as good as my own.

  The best news of all is that Will got a two-year academic scholarship to Christian Boys College, which will see him matriculate and sit entrance exams for Melbourne University. They saw him play football, prior to his injury, and were impressed, but his exam results were among the highest recorded. It’s not a guarantee that he will go on to university and study medicine, but it’s a great start.

  We borrowed Uncle Din’s car/tractor and went down to Ocean Grove to see John and Rosie. They seem to be settling in well, considering. Maggie broke down in tears when she held our little girl — baby Lily. Ethan, Will and Cal have recovered as well as possible from Lily’s passing and the departure of Rosie and John.

  Doug passed away four weeks ago, and sadly, no one misses him. As Sylvia said, she mourned his passing a long time ago and now she is free to move on and perhaps find some happiness after a lifetime of hardship. She sold his cherished car and gave us the money to buy a car for ourselves, so that she can see her grandchildren regularly.

  Christmas Day was spent at home, surrounded by all of our family. I cooked a traditional lunch for sixteen people, and it was so good that there were very few leftovers. It was a simple, perfect day spent with everyone who is important to me — the best Christmas of my life.

  Tonight is New Years Eve and a street party is underway. It’s been a hot summer so far, much more noticeable without air-conditioning, but tonight there is a balmy breeze wafting up the street, carrying with it the smell of freshly cut grass. A long trestle table has been set up in the middle of the street and is laden with food: ham, roast beef, salads, trifles, and pavlovas, all of which are attracting their fair share of little fingers.

  “Come on Mum and Dad, you’re going to miss the concert if you don’t hurry up,” Ethan says as he herds us into our seats. Gran bounces Cal on her knee and Sylvia and baby Lily are lost in a world of their own, while the children assemble, ready to start their Christmas play. I take my seat next to Chris, who puts his hand on my thigh as we settle in to be entertained.

  The play begins and Ethan stands up in front of everyone. He is playing the role of an angel, draped in a white sheet with tinsel wrapped around his head. I lean forward as he begins his part and suddenly, tears blur my vision. My heart pounds with pride and a lump forms in my throat. There he is, my beautiful boy, performing his role, smiling and looking like a natural in front of everyone.

  Chris squeezes my hand, looks at me and smiles as Ethan starts to sing ‘Away in a Manger’. A tear rolls down my cheek. Chris kisses it away and then wraps his arm around me, pulling me into him as we watch our son perform. My heart is so swollen it might burst.

  Two hours after the concert we have some fireworks and crackers for the younger kids. The excitement of the night has caught up with them and despite protests that he is not tired, Ethan is asleep before he hits the pillow. I put baby Lily down in her cot and return to the party, determined to see in the new year.

  Soon after, someone cranks the radio up and people start to dance in the street.

  “May I have this dance, my beautiful wife?” Chris asks, extending his arm to me.

  “You certainly may, my handsome husband.”

  He takes me in his arms and together we melt, lost together. My heart beats in a different kind of way. Right now, it beats just for him.

  “It’s been a big year, Jules,” Chris says.

  I laugh, because he has no idea. “I don’t think they get any bigger,” I say.

  Soon it is nearing midnight and although exhaustion took over an hour ago, I just want to stay up to see in the new year, 1962. The fireworks and crackers light up the sky in our street and then the countdown begins. On the stroke of midnight Chris wraps his arms around me, runs his fingers through my hair, dips me backwards slightly and kisses me in a way that is probably indecent in public in 1961. But it’s dark and no one can see, and even if anyone could see, I wouldn’t care. Some kisses are too wonderful to waste.

  Everyone hugs and kisses each other, joins hands and sings Auld Lang Syne, which causes me to get misty again.

  “What’s wrong, love, are you OK? Is it Lily?” Chris asks me.

  “No, I’m fine,” I say, wiping the tears away from my eyes. “I’m just…”

  “Just what, love?” he asks, worried.

  “I’m just so happy. We have such a beautiful family, Chris, and this is everything I could ever want; family, friends, good times. It would be perfect if Lily, John and Rosie were here, though.”

  “She’s here, Jules” Gran says. “There is no way in the world that girl would miss seeing in the new year with you. She’s here, you can count on that,” she says, as we wrap our arms around each other.

  Gran’s right, as usual. I can feel Lily with me all the time.

  Chris and I say our goodnights to everyone. When we get home Lily is sound asleep, as are Cal, Will and Ethan. I kiss them all and marvel at how gorgeous they are, just for a couple of minutes. I fall into bed very happy and peaceful. The photo of Lily and I, taken on my birthday, is in a silver frame next to the bed. Two friends clinging to each other with Cheshire smiles. I shed a tear and bear a smile at the same time.

  “Happy New Years, Lily. I miss you.” I whisper.

  Chris climbs into bed next to me, his muscled chest and arms a nice distraction from missing Lily.

  “Are you tired, Jules?” he asks.

  “Not that tired,” I say, as our bodies twirl around each other.

  It’s been a long day and baby Lily will be awake in a couple of hours for a feed, but right now, all I want to do is continue that kiss with Chris, in the privacy of our own bed.

  Chapter 26

  The next morning my head aches and throbs, as though I drank a bottle of vodka last night instead of sparkling grape juice. Breastfeeding Lily means that alcohol is off limits, so the hangover is a bit confusing, and undeserved. My eye feels like it’s about to explode out of its socket. My own touch causes me to flinch in pain and I find that my eye is swollen to the point of closure and caked with dried blood. What the?

  The blurry vision makes it hard to see out of my other eye, but from here it appears as though my bed is the lounge room floor, not the slightly lumpy mattress in our bedroom. Where’s Chris? Perhaps after feeding Lily last night I got confused and crashed out here? Probably doing the nice wife thing and not disturbing Chris. But there’s no memory of getting up to feed Lily last night, which is odd because she is a four-hourly kind of baby. Why didn’t she wake up? Why is there carpet on the floor? We have lino, not carpet. What the hell is going on here?

  Then my heart rate starts to soar with horror as everything assembles in my mind. No! Please no!

  As I clamber to my feet, the room stops spinning and comes into view: the mushroom-coloured walls, the chaise longue, the big-arsed plasma, my bag, my phone, my empty vodka bottle and my X5 parked out the front. Everything is just how it was… before. My phone reveals the date — April 1st. Not January 1st, 1962. No! NO! NO!

  My racing heart sinks down into my stomach as reality hits. Whatever sent me to 1961 has now decided, in all its elegant fucking wisdom, to send me back to my modern life. Shit! This is not my home anymore. My home is… here…but not now, not in this time.

  What about my family? Chris? My new baby? Will? Gran, Uncle Din and Aunty Maeve? My new life, our amazing marriage, where has everything gone? What’s happened there? Is the other me back there? Did 1961 really exist or was it a drunken dream?

  It’s not possible to understand anything right now. Waves of anger and frustration roll off me, strong enough to move furnitu
re. A quick tour of the house results in the feeling of reverse déjà vu and my hands start to twitch again, as I realise that there is no Lily or Will, that the front room is Chris’ office and everything is the same as it was before my other life.

  From memory, Chris wanted me gone by the time the kids woke up. My Chris. My gorgeous, loving husband, who made love to me last night as though I was the most desirable woman in the universe. I have to remind myself that this is a different Chris; or is that the same Chris, but a different Juliette?

  Not wanting to antagonise him further, I pack up my things and move toward the door. Tears stream down my face as memories of this house flood my mind, memories of my husband and family and how incredibly happy we are… were. Leaving our home feels so wrong, because this is not something the new and improved Juliette would ever do. Ever. And therein lies the problem; how the hell can I fix this mess?

  The feel of my car is foreign to me, my clothes are uncomfortable and my skin is suffocating under what’s left of my makeup. The reflection in the rear-view mirror shows me to be the enhanced version of myself — of course. It’s hideous. Over done, flashy, fake and hidden well behind my enormous sunglasses.

  My first thought was to go to Dash’s, but right now I need some time to think about what’s happened and how much of that experience should be shared with Dash. They still lock people up for claiming to be time travelers, and once again, being committed wouldn’t further my cause. A pot of tea and a plan is what’s needed right now. The first step is to get things straight in my own mind before sharing them with someone else, so Diego’s it is.

  The cafe is quiet. It’s early on Sunday morning — too early for the majority of brunchers to be out and about just yet. My usual table is empty, so I plonk myself down and order a pot of tea from the waitress, Alexa.

  “Tea? No latte?” she asks, her eyebrows disappearing under her blunt-cut fringe.

  “No lattes anymore, Alexa. It’s time for a change,” I say.

  “Diego!” she calls out over her shoulder. “You need to cut down on the number of milk cartons delivered each day. Juliette isn’t latte-ing anymore,” she laughs.

  “Juliette! Oh, I am so glad you are here. I was going to ring you,” Diego says as he rushes over to my table.

  “Diego, what’s wrong?”

  “I want you to accept my sincerest apologies, my friend.” His accent is all but gone, although sometimes it makes a comeback when he is excited.

  “Why? The coffee’s fine, I just like tea now.” What is he talking about?

  “No, no! For my ex-staff member, Anita. I get rid of her as soon as I find out.”

  “Sorry, I’m lost. Anita?” I say.

  “Yes, she was spying on my customers, tipping off the photographers when a celeb was here, for money,” he says, “I am so sorry. Such an invasion of privacy. My customers are safe here, I won’t allow them to be harassed.”

  The mental wheels slowly turn.

  “So when I had meetings here…”

  “Yes, she call the paparazzi,” he says.

  “Oh, well, that’s no big deal really. They usually want the paps around them anyway. No harm done, Diego,” I say.

  “Not just that, Juliette. The last time you were in, on Friday. Another woman, she wanted to know when you arrived, she reserved the table on the opposite side of the screen. I forget her name, Anna, Arnie?”

  “Anya?” I say.

  “Yes, that is her. She tell Anita that she want to be close enough for you to overhear her conversation, but not see her. I am so sorry for this.”

  Why would she want to do that…have me overhear her but not see her, or her not see me? What an odd thing to… Oh. My. God. Oh my God! That bitch. It was all a set-up! My excitement must be lighting up the room like a mega-watt chandelier. Chris didn’t kiss her, she wanted me to think that he did. She was trying to break us up.

  The weight of a thousand years has been lifted off my shoulders and my body floats out of its chair like a helium balloon. He didn’t cheat on me. Chris didn’t cheat on me! Nothing happened.

  And then, the fires of anger and vengeance are ignited.

  Gran’s words speak louder than any other voice in my head. “You’ve got fighting blood in your veins. You’re made of the good stuff.”

  Now’s the time to kick some arse and there’s only one person who can help me there…

  I pull up outside Dash’s house and ask myself how much I should tell her. They still lock crazy people up and she is a nurse, so it’s probably best to see how things go. She opens the door after the first knock, her brunette ponytail swishing behind her.

  “Jesus! What the Hell happened to you?” Dash asks, her eyes wide with shock at my sunglasses-less, smashed up face.

  I’m torn between telling her not to blaspheme and throwing myself into her arms. Nine months is a long time not to see your sister, even if it was only yesterday.

  “Long story. I got drunk, fell over and landed on my face.” Then I passed out and woke in 1961 — nah, probably better not to go there.

  “Come on in, let me take a look. You might need stitches.” She hauls me inside.

  “Where is everyone?” I ask.

  “Joe took them to the park so I can get some sleep. I’ve just come off night duty.”

  “Oh, sorry. I can…ummm…come back later?” Please let me stay. I’ve nowhere else to go.

  “No, that’s alright. I’m glad you’re here actually. You know, after last night I feel like hitting you myself. What were you thinking, Jules?”

  “I know…”

  “Ethan was devastated, Chris was furious…”

  “I know! I was there for that part! Thanks for the re-cap.”

  She breathes out, shakes her head and leads me to the kitchen.

  “Coffee?” she asks.

  “No, tea thanks.”

  “Tea? Since when do you drink tea?” she asks, putting the kettle on.

  “It’s a new thing. Anyway…”

  “So, let’s hear it,” she says, tapping her fingers on the benchtop as I take my usual seat.

  “Hear what?”

  “The PR crisis that caused you to miss the concert and break your son’s heart. Go on,” she dares me.

  I let out a sigh and ponder the answer that has been forming in my head for the last two months, since visiting Mum at the asylum, but all that comes out is: “I answered the phone when I shouldn’t have. I needed to let it ring, just this once. Despite my intentions, I made the wrong decision.”

  “Well, there’s no argument from me there,” she says.

  “Most other women can balance work and motherhood and do a great job of it, although it beats me how they do it. I screwed it all up because I am — was — incapable of moderation, of saying no.” My mind is working overtime as my mouth struggles to articulate at the same speed.

  Dash is silent as I continue.

  “Working, and being obsessed with work in order to avoid participating in life, are two very different things. I thought that I worked only because I enjoyed it, but that wasn’t the case. I worked day and night mostly because I was hiding — I was too scared to face up to my past and deal with it, and keeping stupidly busy seemed to hold the hounds at bay. Work wasn’t the issue. The issue was me and my relationship with my work, my motivations.” Oh, what a relief to get it out.

  Dash’s mouth is now hanging open like an oven door.

  “But now I realise just how damaging that obsessive behavior was. It wasn’t my fault Dad died — it was an accident. And Mum really did love me, but the alcoholism masked her depression and led me to believe that she despised me, when in actual fact, she was just a lost soul without him. Oh, and I may have been a bit difficult as a child.”

  “Difficult? You? No!” Dash says, rolling her eyeballs. It’s impossible to tell if she’s serious or not.

  “I’m sorry Dash. You’ve been burdened with the most inconsiderate sister imaginable, when all you’ve ever done
is love and care for me. I’ve been too busy trying not to…feel.”

  She rushes over to me and scoops me into her arms.

  “Don’t say that. You’re the best sister in the world. I understand what you’re saying though; ever since Dad died you’ve been, well, not you. What’s happened to make you realise all of this? Did you have an epiphany? An angelic visit? An ecstasy tablet?”

  “Sort of,” I laugh. “It’s a long story.”

  “So what’s happening with Chris?”

  “He told me to leave and not come back, which is understandable, considering what I did.”

  Dash passes me a tea and an ANZAC biscuit as she sits down next to me. The biscuit is almost as good as my own.

  “Mmmm, yum. Needs more golden syrup,” I say.

  She squints at me, takes a bite and then nods in agreement.

  “And what are you going to do about Chris?”

  I fill her in on what Anya did and the truth of the matter.

  “She what? That fucking bitch! Just wait til I get hold of her…”

  “Throw some ideas at me, how can I cut her down to size?”

  “Let me do some digging around, see what I can find. I know a new Mum at school who seems to know her from Sydney. I’ll talk to her today,” Dash squints and nods like a Mafia hitman.

  “Have I told you you’re the best lately?” I ask.

  “No, not for about, let’s see, 25 years,” she says.

  “Well, for the record, you are the best and I love you. Please don’t ever change. Just one more thing; got any spare pregnancy tests?”

  Chapter 27

  Even though Dash insisted on my staying with them, I feel the need for some solitude and check into a hotel. The room, although comfortable, doesn’t induce sleep, which is a good thing because right now I need to sort out my life. The plan formulating in my mind needs to be put into practice, the sooner the better.

  My mobile and I have been staring at each other since breakfast. But staring won’t get the job done. I search through my contacts. My eyes flutter over a plethora of names until they land on the target. Seconds later, it’s ringing but is drowned out by the sound of my own pulse. I almost don’t want my call answered, but that wouldn’t further my purpose. Suddenly there’s a voice at the other end of the line, a familiar voice, not that we talk often.