by Kim Lock
Karen adopted a contemplative expression, head tipped to the side. ‘Can you give me an example of a time you’ve felt accused or mistrusted, Jenna?’
Jenna opened her mouth, closed it again. ‘All right. This is one of many, but a month or so ago, Ark accused me of flirting with a waiter at a restaurant. He often does that – thinks I’m flirting with other men, or leading them on or whatever. And two days ago we had a big argument, about . . .’ She fidgeted on her seat, scratched the back of her neck. Her face felt hot.
‘About?’
Jenna looked up. ‘Well . . .’
‘Sex,’ Ark said with a heavy sigh. ‘I think, with everything she has going on, Jenna has trouble remembering that marriages need intimacy. I often feel pushed away. I wonder if that’s why she shows so much interest in other men, because we’re not being physically affectionate enough with each other.’ He looked pained. ‘Do you think that’s possible, Kay?’
‘What? No!’ Jenna sat forwards. ‘That’s not true. I –’ She broke off, frustrated. ‘That’s not what I was going to say. I wanted to talk about the argument we had a few days ago, about the credit card statement.’
‘Ah,’ said Ark. ‘Yes, I think that’s important, too.’ He laughed and added, ‘Sorry, Kay, you’re going to earn your money with us today!’
The counsellor laughed good-naturedly. Steepling her fingertips, she glanced down at her clipboard. ‘I want to return to sex in a moment, as Ark’s right – physical intimacy is paramount in a marriage, however, I want to address your anxiety that Ark doesn’t trust you.’
‘Anxiety? I’m not anxious about it. He said I’d sucked my –’
‘We can’t argue with someone’s perception,’ Karen said, her face tilted to peer over the top of her glasses. ‘If Ark feels that something is happening, then his perception is his reality. Even if he’s mistaken, his irritation or hurt is still valid, it’s still real to him. Can you understand his frustration and sense of betrayal if he interprets you as flirting with other men?’
‘I’m not flirting!’ Jenna snapped. ‘And this isn’t the point. Can we please talk about the credit card statement?’ She glared at them both. Karen and Ark exchanged a look.
‘Very well.’ Karen made another hand gesture: Go right ahead.
‘There were some things, transactions, on our Visa statement that Ark . . . let’s say he took exception to them.’
‘Things?’
‘A pair of shoes I needed for work. Petrol for my car. Lunch with Fairlie – no, don’t interrupt – some new undies and a pair of socks. A box of chocolates because I was feeling down. Those kinds of things.’
‘Hey, hey.’ Ark held up his hands, chuckling. ‘Of course you can buy what you need. But you know we’re saving for renovations, more land, and holidays.’ Turning back to Karen, he said, ‘Jenna wants to go overseas, so we’re saving up, she’s got expensive taste! Anyway,’ his voice softened, ‘all I’m saying, sweetie, is that you should include me in any financial decisions.’
‘That’s true,’ the counsellor broke in. ‘Finances are a big source of tension between couples. You have to be honest,’ her eyes rested on Jenna, ‘and you have to make decisions that are mutually agreed upon.’
‘I know that. But does lunch with Fro really warrant two days of lecturing about me “leaning outside” the marriage?’
Ark sighed. ‘You know what, honey? You’re right, I probably was a bit cranky that day. Look, I do apologise. But like Karen said, we have to make mutual decisions.’ A look of discomfort crossed his features. ‘I know you didn’t grow up with married parents, so I understand you might not know what’s realistic, or how to maintain a marriage.’
Jenna looked at her watch; still forty more minutes.
Ark smiled and squeezed her hand. ‘Look, of course I work a lot. Running the business on my own is a big job – I hire as little staff as possible to keep overheads down. But the profit means I’ve been able to do some of the renovations that Jenna wanted.’ He grinned. ‘Like the bathroom? You wanted it re-done and it looks so much better now, doesn’t it, sweetheart?’
The counsellor looked at Jenna.
‘I guess,’ Jenna faltered. ‘I mean, yes. The bathroom is great.’
‘And we’ve been researching a trip to New Zealand, pricing flights and hotels, haven’t we?’
‘Sure, but –’ What was happening? The conversation felt like a car on an icy road, fishtailing precariously. ‘Can’t I make the decision to buy a pair of socks on my own?’
‘Of course you can!’ Ark said with a big laugh. ‘I’m not Big Brother.’
Karen joined in his chortle.
‘I –’
Ark held up his hands and dropped his head deferentially. ‘Ahh, look. I need to say it here.’ The room went quiet as he lowered his hands and took time to lift his gaze. ‘I had a great childhood. I never went wanting for anything. But . . . my dad was quite strict.’ A flicker crossed the counsellor’s face. An internal Aha moment. ‘And my mum often got mad at him, but not in an obvious way. She’d go quiet, and not say anything for days. A kind of punishment.’
‘So, when your parents argued, your mother would withdraw affection, is that right?’ Karen asked.
He gave a slow nod. ‘Yeah.’
‘And that made you feel . . .?’
‘Like I never want that to happen to us.’ Ark turned to Jenna again. ‘I want us to be open with each other. That’s all I’m asking. That we communicate. Because I hated the silent treatment. It made my dad angry. And he’d lash out at me for it. Mum never listened when he’d try and talk or reason with her – she just clammed up. So what was he supposed to do? She made him angry.
‘And yeah,’ he finished, ‘I’ll admit, it’s compounded by past relationships. Particularly my most recent ex,’ his voice cracked. ‘That left me bleeding a bit.’
They both looked at Jenna expectantly. Was she supposed to respond to this? What was the right thing to say? She was communicating with Ark . . . or trying to . . . wasn’t she?
‘And considering the separate lives we lead – you working odd hours, me busy with the grapes – it’s no wonder we’re struggling to communicate. Here’s an idea.’ Ark bent forwards, gazed solemnly into her eyes. ‘Let’s go away for the weekend. Really focus on us. We’ll talk, we’ll remember what we love about each other. We’ve gotten complacent, as Karen said –’ his eyes sought the psychologist and he gave her a nod, ‘– so let’s agree to make an effort to spend our spare time together.’
‘Does that sound feasible, Jenna?’ Karen asked, pen lightly tapping her page.
‘Of course – well, yes, I mean . . .’ Shit. A button popped from its thread, escaped her fingers and dropped down the side of the cushion. There wasn’t any saliva in her mouth. The counsellor was looking at her intently. ‘But I’d also like him to stop treating me as though I’m untrustworthy.’ Jenna’s voice was wire-thin. ‘I want him to stop accusing me of things that aren’t true.’
‘Ark? How do you respond to that?’
Ark sighed. ‘I guess it comes down to communication. Bring it up with me when I do it, because otherwise I don’t see it, you know? If I have a sickness, I need to know the symptoms. And I need you to stick by me, help me work on it, instead of threatening to leave all the time.’ He smiled sadly.
Jenna’s mouth fell open. She turned to the counsellor, unconsciously seeking something. Protection? Solidarity? Answers? The room was swimming, the walls had taken on a shimmer and the open fire was too hot.
‘I know it’s hard for you sometimes, Jen,’ Ark soothed. He stroked her knee. ‘With your estrangement from your mother . . . you tend to be oversensitive about things. Gosh, I’ve never accused you of anything. But I understand that you’ve been hurt, and that makes it hard for you to believe me, sometimes. And your dad was never around – no, look, I know you
hate to hear it but people are always wounded by absent fathers, it’s a psychological fact – but Jenna,’ he gripped her hand, his eyes welling, ‘I’m not your mother, or your father, baby. I love you and I’ll never hurt you and I’ll never, ever leave you.’
Blinking rapidly, Jenna swallowed hard.
‘Okay. It sounds like we’ve hit onto something poignant here.’ Karen’s voice was like liquid Valium. ‘I’m sorry to hear you’re suffering some pain, Jenna.’ She slid a box of tissues across the table. Ark took one and carefully, lovingly, wiped Jenna’s cheeks. She wanted to slap his hand away. This wasn’t going right. Irrational projected pain from her estrangement from her mother or some kind of Freudian father issues had nothing to do with Ark’s escalating, near-constant fury with her every time she so much as looked at another man; his checking her emails and text messages; his index finger painstakingly tracing each line of the latest Visa statement, his calm, measured demands that each transaction unknown to him be explained and justified in full – and usually to his dissatisfaction – were his trust issues, not hers.
And hadn’t they had sex four days ago? In truth, Jenna hadn’t been in the mood for it lately. Not because she wasn’t interested in Ark, or because they didn’t make time for it, but because she’d felt increasingly alienated from him for reasons, amongst other things, she had hoped this counsellor might have been able to illuminate.
Was she being over-sensitive? She began to feel whiney, childish. It was true that she hadn’t exactly been raised by a shining pillar of integrity, nor had her upbringing demonstrated healthy, open relationships. Jenna’s heart dropped into her stomach, a dead weight of self-loathing.
When the hour was over, Ark handed over his Visa card and thanked Karen Macpherson profusely. He promised to drop off a bottle of his award-winning 2010 vintage shiraz.
They never went back.
vii
A gauzy slat of late-afternoon sunlight streamed through the bathroom window. Suspended in the beam, dust motes hovered a slow waltz, so untroubled that not even gravity could touch them.
Jenna watched where the light splashed down onto the tiles. Ark’s strong hands had placed each of those big squares – the colour of an elephant's tusks – with loving care, just for her. Although she could not recall disliking the original floor tiles as much as he claimed she did – smaller, pale blue tiles stippled with white and grey – she couldn’t deny that he had knelt there and ripped up the floor, chipped tiles from the wall and pulled doors from the cabinets, within a month of her moving in. For a week, he’d had paint in his hair and grout beneath his fingernails; he’d worked so hard, and now the bathroom was beautiful. Just for her.
The edge of the bath cut into the backs of her thighs. Her feet tingled.
Watching that beam of light coming through the window, Jenna imagined the journey those dancing photons had taken: spewed from a burning ball of gas, hurtling through black empty space towards this lush blue-green planet. Through the upper layers of the atmosphere, through the fluffy clouds, through the rustling gum tree outside and in through the opaque bathroom window to where Jenna sat.
She was so small – an insignificant part of something so infinite and enormous that she shouldn’t dare question it.
This was life. People loved each other and hated each other; people were messed-up and happy and everything in between; lives broke apart and came back together; people had secrets, people were flawed and human and sometimes you couldn’t control it. Any of it. Or could you? Perhaps, like her mother, she was simply selfish, entitled, expecting everything to happen to her liking.
Between her fingers, Jenna twirled the white plastic stick. She was happy – of course she was happy – but other, more demanding emotions were surfacing as though to eclipse the happiness. Apprehension, quiet and creeping; uncertainty, a cloud of it; and fear, cold and sucking the moisture from her mouth. In Ark’s voice, she reminded herself that these latter feelings were ephemeral; she told herself those more hesitant, tentative or subtle feelings never last and therefore can’t be trusted. All she needed do was wait for their trajectory to push inevitably past.
But would they? Could she forget the past and move forwards, truly free of it?
Down the hall, the front door slammed. Ark’s boots thumped on the floorboards.
‘Jenna?’
Jenna breathed in; she breathed out. Her feet had gone numb.
Closer. ‘Jen?’ His footsteps in the kitchen. ‘Where are you, babe?’
Forearms on her knees, head low. She filled her lungs and straightened.
‘In here. The bathroom.’
After a moment from the doorway: ‘Hi,’ then, quickly, ‘hey, are you okay?’
She looked up at him and she smiled, closing her hand into a fist around the stick. ‘I’m great.’ She stood up and he came towards her.
‘What are you doing?’ he queried, giving her a quick kiss on the cheek. He was filthy; sweat bloomed in the armpits of his shirt, dust was caked into gritty lines on his sun-reddened forehead. There was dried grass in his boot laces, grass seeds embedded into the folded-down tops of his thick black socks.
‘Get all the picking finished?’ she asked.
‘Yeah, finally. It’s going to be a big year. Great harvest.’ He smiled briefly, then tilted his head. ‘Sure you’re okay? You look a bit . . .?’
Jenna uncurled her fingers, like a flower opening. As Ark picked the pregnancy test from her palm, she felt a real, proper smile tug at the corners of her lips and as he whooped and grabbed her in a hug, she closed her eyes to that beam of light from the sun and remembered that sometimes, there are things you can’t control, forces greater than you, and all you can do is go with it. Because only a fool – a selfish fool – would try to control what cannot be.
And maybe, just maybe, this could be the new beginning she needed.
viii
Fog streaked in low clumps across the road, curling through the winter-bare vines and disappearing into the night. Jenna shivered and yawned as she glanced at the illuminated display on the dashboard: 12.08 am. 1.5 degrees.
The heater had barely begun to blow warm air as she slowed off the highway, headlights flashing across the stone gateway. ArkAcres. White gravel stark beneath the front of the car, a midnight tunnel through hunched vines squatting dormant in strips of cold fog.
Parking alongside the shed, she yawned again and squinted as the interior light came on. The thump of the car door closing seemed absurdly loud. On tiptoes she made her way through the house and poked her head into the bedroom.
‘You’re still up,’ she whispered with a smile.
Ark closed his laptop and stretched his arms above his head. ‘Had some stuff to do. You look tired.’
Jenna nodded. ‘I am.’
Pulling on an old t-shirt in the ensuite, the mirror showed the small paunch of her belly swelling into the fabric between her hips. Jenna dropped her gaze and clicked off the light.
A lamp was glowing on the bedside table. Ark had put aside his laptop, the covers were drawn up to his chest. He watched her as she stifled another yawn and climbed under the blankets.
‘Long shift?’
‘So long. I’m trashed.’
Ark held his arms open and she leant over and kissed his cheek. She smiled, then drew away, closing her eyes with a low groan of pleasure as her head hit the pillow.
‘Goodnight,’ she said, contentedly. ‘Love you.’
Weight shifted on the bed as Ark moved closer; he slid his hand under the sheets, ran his fingers down her arm.
She smiled sleepily, patted his hand. ‘Night,’ she repeated.
Nestling closer still, he fitted his body behind her, tucking himself around the curve of her hips. He kissed the back of her neck. Wrapping her hand around his fingers, Jenna squeezed his hand gently and then let go, snuggling deeper
under the covers, shifting out from under his touch.
‘Have a good sleep,’ she murmured.
Ark moved again, catching up; she was right on the edge of the mattress. As he drew a heavy, bare arm over her shoulder she could smell the hot musk of his skin, his warm breath on her ear, the prod of his erection at the base of her spine.
‘Sorry, babe, I’m tired,’ she said.
‘Come on,’ he said softly, his lips on her earlobe.
She shook her head, like flicking off an insect. Ark’s body stilled, then he snorted and shot away so fast a puff of cool air stole under the sheets.
After a moment, she opened one eye. ‘You okay?’
‘You’re always tired.’
Tension flitted beneath her ribs. ‘I’m back on day shift again soon,’ she told him. ‘Don’t worry.’ She reached back with her foot and poked his leg with her toes. ‘Go to sleep.’ Her eyelids felt weighted with concrete.
A laboured sigh. When he spoke again his voice was up higher, closer to her head. ‘You’re always so tired now – you can’t tell me not to worry.’
‘Really, Ark,’ she said from under the sheets. ‘It’s okay.’
‘You’ve got no time for us anymore. You barely get three words out to me before you’re asleep. Don’t you remember what the counsellor told you? You need to make time for us. Intimacy is paramount in a marriage.’
Jenna exhaled heavily. Her entire body ached for the relief of sleep, she could feel the teasing tug of it like a cloak, but Ark held the other end. Maybe, if he was quoting the counsellor, she could find the person he’d been in that session all those months ago: loving, compassionate, open-minded.
‘You’re right, I am too tired these days,’ she relented. ‘I’m sorry. I know it’s important to you. But can we please talk about this tomorrow?’
‘Oh sure,’ his voice took on a condescension that made her pulse quicken, ‘when it suits you. It’s your job that’s important, I’m only running an entire business, after all. I’ve got nothing better to do than sit around waiting to talk about your problems.’