“You really need to speak to another mother, Marie,” she had urged. “What about Vera? She is experienced, nice, outside the family and discreet. Let’s talk to her.”
Marie had tears in her eyes as she nodded her head in agreement. She was starting to believe that she was really going to have a baby and it terrified her. Life as she knew it was about to end and another, completely different lifestyle was going to take its place.
Vera had arrived bearing trays of food as usual. In a previous life she had trained as a chef. Although only 36 years old, Vera had had to reinvented herself a few times already.
She had been dismayed when Louise had told her of Marie’s condition. She couldn’t help thinking that there was really no excuse for an unplanned pregnancy these days. How could Marie have been so careless? Or perhaps she had secretly wanted to fall pregnant, and had simply let nature take its course.
But Louise had insisted that this was not the case and that Marie was distressed and almost incapable of contemplating her future. “Please come and talk to her,” Louise had pleaded. “I don’t know how to advise her. I don’t even know if she wants to have the baby. I don’t think she even knows!” Vera wasn’t sure that she could help, but Louise seemed certain that just getting Marie to talk about her pregnancy would be a step in the right direction.
So, it was with some misgivings that Vera parked outside Marie’s unit and made her way to the door. What were they expecting her to say? Did Louise want her to talk Marie into having an abortion? What did Marie want? Vera felt unequal to the task whatever it might be. “But, I’m here, now,” she thought, “so I might as well make the best of it.”
Vera loved the suburb, Griffith, and noticed that it had a number of the same trees of similar sizes to Braddon, where she lived. Braddon and Griffith were on opposite sides of Lake Burley Griffin, and Vera surmised that both suburbs had been settled at the same time. The original houses were alike in style and made of the classic Canberra red brick, from the old brick factory on the Queanbeyan side of Narrabundah. Old plum trees, silver birches and pinoaks dominated the landscape, and the ubiquitous hedges which had become a familiar sight to Vera in Braddon were to be found here in Griffith, too. Vera noticed that the block of units named “Griffith Gardens” where Marie lived backed onto a nature reserve containing a small creek. Vera couldn’t help thinking what a nice place it would be to raise a child. She shook this thought off, though, and concentrated on the girl she was about to talk to.
Beyond finding Marie to be startlingly pretty, Vera really hadn’t formed an impression of the girl’s character, and wondered how she would find her this evening.
The door was opened by Marie who greeted her with a smile. “Hi, Vera,” she said. “Thanks for coming. You shouldn’t have brought food!”
Vera looked around the flat and said “Wow! What a beautiful place!” She had moved comfortably into Marie’s kitchen, and to Louise’s surprise began to take over without upsetting Marie’s proprietorial nerves. On the contrary – Marie sat comfortably to one side of the kitchen bar and quietly instructed Vera as to where she might find this dish or that spoon.
Soon they were sitting in the lounge room, eating pasta from bowls on their laps and drinking spritzers.
“How are you feeling?” asked Vera.
Louise wondered why she hadn’t thought to ask Marie that. She was so focussed on the practical things that she forgot to be nice. Again.
Marie let the tears slide down her face. “I feel OK most of the time,” she admitted. “I get very tired, though. More than tired – exhausted, even though I haven’t done anything much. Maybe something is wrong?”
Vera shook her head and patted Marie’s knee. “You are pregnant. You should be getting rest, not rushing off to catch a bus to 8 hours of work every day. You should be taking a nap every afternoon.”
“I can’t.”
“I know.” Vera spoke softly. “Have you thought about what you want to do?”
“You are only 10 weeks, Marie,” said Louise. I’ve looked it up and you can have an abortion until you are 12 weeks. After that, you have to go through with it.”
Marie’s voice was hard. “Why should I have an abortion?” she demanded. “My baby will be just as good as Roxanne’s or Jane’s. Better.” She pushed at her eyes to staunch the flow of tears. “I don’t know what to do,” she said hopelessly.
Vera looked at her plate. “Well,” she said, “you have a number of options and none of them are easy. Abortion is a traumatic thing to do to your body and for some people, it is just plain traumatic. But for most people, it is forgotten in time and accepted as a sad event that was unfortunately necessary for them.” She paused and ate some pasta.
“Do you wish you had had an abortion, Vera?” Marie wanted to know.
Vera smiled. “It isn’t like that for anyone, Marie. When you have a baby, you don’t think about that, whether you considered an abortion or not. No one regrets having a baby. But,” she added, “I know some people regret having had an abortion. And I know many more who know they did the right thing when they made that same choice.”
“You could have the child adopted,” said Louise.
“No.” Marie was definite. “If I am going to have this baby, I am going to keep it. I just know that if I have an abortion, I’ll end up married to someone who has been divorced and has kids, and I’ll end up raising someone else’s kids when I didn’t keep my own baby.”
Vera smiled. “Good. You have made one decision. You only need to make one decision at a time.” She refilled the spritzers, putting less wine into Marie’s glass and more soda water. “When I got pregnant, my doctor told me that most of the time – even for married women – a pregnancy is not good news. But a baby is always good news, no matter what the situation. And I think that sums it up very well.” Vera was rewarded with a look filled with the light of understanding from both Marie and Louise, and felt that she was doing some good. She continued.
“The main difference at this point between abortion and pregnancy is privacy.”
“What do you mean?” asked Louise.
“Well, no one knows when someone has an abortion, but everyone knows when someone has a baby. Therefore, abortions are private and babies are public. Are you prepared for that?”
Something in Marie had set when she heard Vera speak about babies being good news. She had felt like a jelly up till then. Now she had a little core of determination that made her sit up straighter.
“Yes,” said Marie. “I think so.”
“Good, because it will be a bumpy ride. I think you are good for it, though. Just remember that for every rude, opinionated nincompoop out there, there are six kind, decent people waiting to help you through this.”
“You mean, the ‘single mothers are ruining society’ loons?” asked Louise.
“The very ones,” nodded Vera. “And then there are the people who will tell you that it isn’t fair to bring a baby into the world without a father – as though abortion is a magic cure-all. And don’t forget the ones who will ask you, quite seriously, if you know who the father is.”
“You’re kidding!” Louise was disbelieving.
“Oh, no,” Vera shook her head and smiled. “You would be amazed at the intrusive questions complete strangers feel comfortable asking a young expectant single mother! Things they would never dream of asking a married girl. As if single women are any less likely to know who they had sex with than married women.” Vera sipped her drink. “As if no married women ever wondered whether her husband was in fact the father of her child.” Vera was trying hard to keep her words of advice general. She had lived through this difficult time and survived and didn’t want to remember the hurt from the past when all she had to show for her experience now was a handsome son and so much love. She leaned towards Marie and said gently. “Just don’t let them get you down, Marie. A baby is given two parents so that it can always keep one in reserve. A baby needs only one functional parent
to grow up perfectly well. The second one is just a spare.”
Louise laughed. “That makes a lot of sense, actually.”
“Of course it does,” said Vera. “Does anyone pick on the children of war widows? Does anyone say ‘those children are bad for society because they have no father at home’? No! Because it isn’t true. What children need is one good parent who provides and cares for them. You have a good job, Marie. You have a lovely home. And you have family. Your child will be cared for and loved. How many children are born to married couples who end up divorcing and aren’t financially responsible? All you have to do is plan ahead, be sensible with your money, and behave like a mother, and your child will be as well off as any child anywhere.”
Marie was delighted by Vera’s insights. In a few words she had removed the barriers Marie had felt separated her from ‘normal’ mothers. “Vera,” she announced, “I’m so glad you could come over to talk to me. I’m starting to feel like I can do this after all.” She was smiling for the first time in weeks. “And,” she added, “if anyone asks, it’s Elvis’s baby.”
*
They talked for a couple of hours about the plans Marie needed to make. She would have to start looking at childcare spots since she would need to return to work at some point and childcare places in good facilities were hard to find. Marie needed to work out a budget and accumulate some baby furniture and clothing. Cloth nappies were very inexpensive and could save her a small fortune. Breast feeding was not only free but convenient. She would save money on formula and on the sterilisation equipment that bottles required.
Louise couldn’t help thinking that possibly their father should be in on this discussion, since she had no doubt whatsoever that he would be footing every bill. However, this was not the time to air those views so she listened attentively.
“And remember,” Vera said as she stood to go. “This is your time. After this, you are a mother. You may never have another child. Don’t throw away this precious time. Even if you do have more children, your first pregnancy is unique because it is the one that turns you into a mother. You are as much a mother as any married woman. Don’t let anyone take that joy away from you. It belongs to you and the family you are about to start. Just take one day at a time; one decision at a time. If someone upsets you – avoid them. This is as much about you as it is about your baby.”
Marie was happy and excited about her future by the time Vera left them. She sat with Louise and watched the sun finally sink behind the mountains, seemingly impaled by the Black Mountain Tower. A soft breeze played with the leaves and the curtains, and they sat in the quiet, each feeling that a load had been lifted from their shoulders. Marie felt that there was a lighter side to life after all; while Louise felt less uncertain about Marie’s ability to cope with the consequences of her decision. She was aware that her little sister had grown a straighter spine and admired her newfound conviction. “The thing is,” she said “whatever you do, there will be people to help you. You may be a single mother, but won’t be alone.”
“No,” agreed Marie. “I’ll have my baby.”
“Not just the baby, Marie. You will have all of us.”
Marie scoffed. “I’m not sure I want ‘all of us’, Lou,” she said. “I still don’t think I can deal with everyone putting in their two cents worth. Especially now that Roxanne is gunning for ‘Mother of the Year’”.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that I still don’t want anyone to know that I am pregnant. Mum will want me to have an abortion so she won’t be embarrassed; Roxanne will make degrading comments every chance she gets; Jane will be embarrassed to have a younger sister who is a single-mother.”
“You don’t know that,” said Louise uncomfortably.
“Come off it, Lou. We’ve both heard Jane and Roxanne go on about single mothers.” Marie’s expression changed from one of scorn to shame. “I can’t face all that. I have to get used to the idea first myself. So don’t tell anyone. When I’m ready, I’ll tell Dad. Anyway,” Marie sounded more confident, “I don’t have to say anything until I can’t hide it any more. That gives me a few months.”
“Well, yes. The book says you shouldn’t show with your first till about five and a half months, and sometimes people can disguise the bulge for much longer than that.”
“Where is this bloody book you keep talking about?” demanded Marie teasingly. “I think I should read it, don’t you?”
“Can’t hurt!” And Louise dug into her bag and produced the font-of-all-knowledge and handed it to Marie.
*
Louise drove home from Marie’s feeling quite strange. “Am I jealous?” she wondered. Instead of driving to her own unit, she kept going till she got to Weetangera, and Margot’s place.
Margot lived in a basement flat much like Louise’s. Her car was in the driveway and the lights were on. It was only 8.30 – not too late to call.
Margot opened the door. “Hi!” she said. “This is a surprise. Come in.” Although the girls often spent three evenings a week going out together, they rarely visited each other at home in the days in between.
“Hi, Margot,” said Louise. “I hope I’m not here at a bad time.”
“Not at all,” said Margot. “I was just doing some ironing.”
Louise laughed. “Do you iron?”
“Of course,” replied Margot. “Don’t you?”
“No way.”
“You don’t pay someone to do it, do you?” Margot was aghast at the idea of such an extravagance.
“No – I just don’t buy clothes that need ironing,” Louise explained.
“All clothes need ironing!”
“No, they don’t. Of course, that means I can’t buy any cotton or linen clothes, though. I always buy rayon or polyester.”
“What about jeans?”
“I just get them really, really tight, so that the creases get sorted out when I put them on.”
“Are you serious?” Margot couldn’t believe it.
“Deadly. Have you ever seen me iron?”
Margot thought. “No, I haven’t.”
“I don’t even own an iron.”
“What?”
“Really. I don’t.”
“What if you want to wear something and it is crushed?”
“I wear something else.”
“And you never wear that thing again?”
“I give it away. I decided years ago that I hated ironing; that I am no good at it; and clothes that require ironing do not belong in my life.”
“So,” Margot was determined to find a flaw in Louise’s argument, “If you saw a gorgeous outfit that looked fabulous on you and was a great price, you wouldn’t buy it if it needed ironing?”
“That’s right,” said Louise. “It takes discipline, but so does any worthwhile pursuit.”
“You are a strange girl, Lou.”
“Welcome to my world!”
“So, what brings you here tonight?”
“I’ve just come from Marie’s.” Louise had already told Margot of Marie’s pregnancy, so delivered the news without any further explanation. “She has decided to keep the baby.”
“As in – not have an abortion?”
“Right. As in, raise her child on her own.”
“Wow.” Margot raised her eyebrows. “So, what do you think?”
“It’s weird, actually. I feel almost envious.”
“WHAT?” Margot almost screeched her surprise.
“Not that she will be a single mother at the age of 20, but that she has moved on into the next stage of her life. They all have.” Louise sat down in Margot’s couch as Margot turned off the iron and the TV. “ I feel like I am still stuck somewhere between 20 and nowhere. And I’m the eldest! I’m supposed to be the trail-blazer, not the laggard.”
“God, Lou, get a grip!” Margot may not have been the right person to run this past, Louise realized too late. Her anti-children sentiments ran too deep and strong to allow for much sel
f-doubt. “Name one couple we know whose marriage you would want.”
Louise thought of friends they both knew, couple by couple.
“I can’t,” she said, surprising herself.
“Exactly!”
“That’s not what I mean, though. I mean – what now? I’ve finished studying – twice – and I’ve been working for years. What now? Is this it – on and on, just the same, for the rest of my life?”
“You haven’t travelled yet.”
“I’ve been all around Australia.”
“Overseas.”
“I don’t want to go overseas by myself.”
“What else are you going to do with your money?”
“That’s never a problem. Anyway, I should start saving for a home of my own.”
“What?”
“Why not? There is no reason I can’t have a home, just because I’m single. Single women need homes, too. I feel like a teenager, living underneath Clare O’Neils’ parents’ place.”
“But it is so cheap and convenient.” Margot was speaking of her own unit, too. “But I know what you mean. Sometimes I feel the same way.”
“You do?” Louise’s relief was palpable. It hadn’t been a mistake to tell Margot after all. “Are you thinking of buying a place?”
“No. That is something I want to do when I ‘meet someone’. I don’t want to do that on my own. That’s like admitting that I’ll always be on my own.”
“Oh, I’d rather do it ‘with someone’, too. But what if we don’t ever meet anyone? And even if we do, chances are that he will be in his thirties, maybe even divorced. And if he is single, he might have his own place anyway at that age. At least if I had a unit of my own, I’d have something.”
Christmas in Canberra Page 14