However, things were no easier at home. Chris consumed all her energy. Rather than the warm, loving times depicted in women’s magazines, she found days and nights filled with the same mundane tasks of feeding, burping and changing the baby. Endless piles of washing had to be done in the twin-tub. How can one small baby create so many smelly nappies and milk-stained sheets? Night-times were the worst. She had trouble getting to sleep, always listening for Chris’s cry. When she did drift into a fitful slumber, he’d wake her. By the time she’d fed him and settled him back to sleep, she’d be wide awake. Exhausted, she tried to grab a nap during the day, becoming preoccupied with counting how many hours of sleep she got each day. Night and day merged into one long, blurry fog. She was never quite awake or ever quite asleep. The sound of the baby’s whinging lived in her ears. Is it real or am I dreaming? Never quite sure, she entered a nightmare world where nothing was real.
Her milk ran out after a few weeks, adding the task of sterilising bottles and making up formula. This made it easier for Margaret, who, true to her word, looked after Chris when she was at university. Chris took to Margaret immediately, with them developing a rapport Natalie envied. Though he was a healthy, beautiful looking baby, with his round face, pale green eyes, downy, blonde hair and clear, olive skin, he had no interest in the cuddles Natalie wanted to bestow upon him. After his feeds he’d push her away, freeing himself to roll around on the floor, exploring whatever he could find. Natalie, frequently in tears, rang her mother, but she didn’t understand. She’d never had any difficulty with her babies. They were left to cry until the appropriate feeding time. She couldn’t see what Natalie was making a fuss over.
Added to the pressure of lectures, Natalie was now required to work two days a week. She was placed at the Royal Hospital for Women, in Paddington, for the most part working with new, unmarried mothers. None of her clients seemed to have as much on their plates as she did. Still, Natalie put her own concerns aside to focus on their needs. Thank goodness for Margaret or I’d never cope.
Despite everything, Natalie managed to successfully complete her second year. Then, to her relief, her parents offered to come to Sydney to take Chris back to Newcastle for a while. Now she could return to Woolworths and catch up on those overdue bills.
Natalie expected to miss Chris, but she didn’t. It’s great to have my life back, to be able to sleep all night and no extra washing. She went to the beach in her spare time, sunbaking on the sand and swimming through the waves, relaxed and light-hearted. The last thing she wanted was the burden of Chris’s return. She put it off as long as she could, failing to even visit him, for fear he’d be thrust back into her arms.
When she finally made her way to Newcastle, she found a happy, little boy, crawling about amongst his toys without a concern in the world. He appeared quite oblivious to her presence, but by the same token, sat happily in the car seat for the return trip to Sydney.
Refreshed from her break, the year started well. Natalie was again spending two days a week undertaking a placement. This time she was part of a group at the Department of Social Security. The supervisor was pleasant and having five other students to throw ideas around with made it much easier. Margaret continued to look after Chris, but as he matured, his energy level increased, making him more demanding. Natalie could see by the strained look on the older woman’s face she was not finding it easy.
“I’m afraid I’m just too old for this, Natalie. He’s a lovely little chap but he never stops. The minute my back’s turned he’s into something. I’ve got all my cupboards tied up to keep him out of them but he climbs up on the furniture. I’m afraid he’s going to fall. With there being no fence around the yard, I have to keep him inside all the time. I’m worried he’s going to get out and you know how busy that main road is.”
“I’m sorry, Margaret. I do understand. I appreciate all the help you’ve given me.”
“Look, I’ll keep on with him until you finish your placement. Then you can find someone else for the second half of the year.”
Natalie was also facing a problem at uni. She couldn’t fathom Freud’s theories. The suggestion of an Oedipus complex, in which young boys wanted to possess their mother and replace their father, made no sense at all to her. Nor did interrogating clients about their early childhoods to discover at what point they’d become fixated as a result of poor parenting. Blaming someone’s mother for a person’s problems seemed totally unhelpful. How on earth is this going to enable them to function better in their daily lives? Consequently, she failed the Casework section of Social Work Practice. Unless she could manage a credit in one of the other sections, it looked like she’d fail the subject.
Natalie managed to solve the childcare problem by taking Chris to the university crèche, a modern, light-filled area, filled with children’s equipment and toys, neatly stacked on shelves around the room. On Chris’s first day she returned to the crèche after two hours to the sound of a screaming child. Making her way inside, she saw a carer cradling a little girl, with a cloth held to her head, obviously in an attempt to stop the bleeding that was seeping through and running down her face. Natalie approached another carer. “What happened?”
“Ask your son.”
That isn’t a terribly helpful suggestion, with his limited vocabulary.
“Your son hit her over the head with the wooden truck she was playing with because she wouldn’t give it to him.”
Natalie looked around the room. Toys were strewn everywhere, many of them in pieces.
“You can tell where he’s been, can’t you?”
“He’s never been to crèche before. He was probably just excited.”
“That’s what you call it, is it?” The woman glared at her. “He’ll have to improve if you expect him to keep coming here. We’ve got the safety of other children to consider.”
Chris suddenly appeared from another room. He ran up to her, a huge smile on his face, and wrapped his arms around her legs.
Natalie looked at the carer. “Will it be OK if I bring him back tomorrow?”
“All right. We’ll see how he goes.”
Natalie continued to be greeted at the end of each day with reports of his misdemeanours. He apparently careered around the place, knocking over other children in his eagerness to explore the toys. He frequently pushed them and bit them to test their reactions. ‘Time out’ was something he soon became familiar with. By all accounts, it didn’t perturb him. As soon as he was allowed to play with other children again he returned to his unruly behaviour. On her way to collect him, Natalie was always on tender-hooks. I wonder what he’s got up to today. I hope they don’t ban him from the centre.
He was just as naughty at home. Natalie wracked her brain for a solution. She wasn’t prepared to frighten him into behaving, the way she’d been brought up. No, she was determined he’d have the confidence to be his own person. Chris always seemed happy enough. It was just that his boisterous behaviour put other people off.
Noticing an advertisement for Parent Effectiveness Training (PET) in the local newspaper, Natalie enrolled at the Maroubra Community Health Centre. Fortunately, child care was available. It’ll be nice to have a change from uni and hopefully, I’ll learn something useful. On her arrival, she was directed to a room which had a relaxed, sunny ambience. A number of chairs had been placed around in a circle. Two of them were already occupied by tired, scruffy-looking women with unkempt hair, jeans and loose-fitting tops. Is that how I look? Probably! It’s easy to forget to care yourself when you’re flat out all the time. Within ten minutes a rather woebegone group of youngish women drifted into the room and took their seats. The teacher looked much smarter. She’d remembered to comb her hair and wear lipstick, speaking in a confident, controlled manner. That’s how I’d like to be! It soon became obvious, as they each told their stories, that Natalie wasn’t the only one struggling. That’s a relief!
After the introductions, they moved onto the lesson in earnest. Natalie wa
s surprised to hear that even small children could participate in rational problem solving, instead of being constantly directed by their parents. That’s certainly not the way I was brought up. The teacher eloquently described, with the help of a textbook and white-board, a way of achieving a ‘win-win’ solution, to avoid resentful feelings developing between parent and child. An example was given of a child who is unwilling to wear her yellow raincoat to school on a wet morning. In looking for solutions, which took into account the mother’s wish for the child to stay warm and dry, agreement was reached that the child borrowed her mother’s coat for the day. Natalie was uncertain if she agreed with this outcome, but decided to give PET a go anyway. Hopefully, it would help avoid a few of Chris’s tantrums.
When he returned from crèche the next day, complaining about the milk he was made to drink, she helped him explore the problem and come up with a solution of his own. It was agreed Natalie would give him a bottle of fruit juice to take to crèche. She was feeling quite proud of herself until she returned there to be greeted by the angst of a carer who accused her of trying to undermine their authority. She was not to provide any more drink bottles.
Things didn’t improve there. Sick of the toys, Chris began to amuse himself by scaling the wall to unravel the fire hose. Of more concern was his agility in climbing the child-proof fence to open the gate, allowing children to run out onto the road. It was no surprise when Natalie was advised he wasn’t welcome back next year.
Fortunately for her, there was to be a next year. She managed to scrape through Social Work Practice by getting a credit in Community Work. However, next year would be a long, demanding one, with a two-month full-time placement at the beginning of the year and another part-time placement throughout the second semester.
Now, without a babysitter, Natalie couldn’t take on any work at Woolworths and after some time on her own with Chris, drove up to Newcastle to spend Christmas with her parents. Karen was there with her boy-friend, John. They were obviously very much in love, talking about their plans to move to Sydney in the New Year. Karen would study at Macquarie University, not far from where John would be teaching.
Chris ran around all over the place getting into everything in his usual way. “He needs a firm hand,” commented her father.
Natalie looked at him, exasperated. “I’m not the only one who can’t manage him. The crèche has refused to take him back next year.”
“Your mother and I have no problem with him.”
“I wish you’d take him then.” The comment slipped out, without any forethought.
“We’ll discuss it and let you know.”
The following day, agreement was reached that Chris would live with his grandparents for her final year. “You’re three-quarters of the way through. We want to see you finish your course,” Dad said, handing her an envelope. Natalie opened it, her eyes welling up, as she saw hundreds of dollars in fifty dollar notes.
“Thanks, Dad. You’re so generous. I couldn’t manage without your help.”
After her disastrous results in Casework, Natalie selected Community Development as her speciality area for her final year. At least it’s based on common sense. This meant her final two placements involved working with local groups and agencies. It gave her a buzz to see new projects get off the ground.
She was relieved she hadn’t chosen group work when students returned from a weekend workshop in an altered state of consciousness. The T-group seemed to have created some elusive kind of love between them as they wandered around with their arms around each other’s shoulders, giving each other warm strokes, in both a verbal and physical sense, despite whispers of lesbianism from other students.
Natalie did, however, become involved in running a group of her own. Having discovered, STEP, a similar programme to PET, she ran a series of workshops, teaching parenting skills, which provided her with a little extra pocket money.
Without Chris to worry about, Natalie sailed through her final year. Whether he behaved or not with her parents, she didn’t know. There were certainly no complaints.
Chapter 17
1973
At last, she could pursue her dream of helping the poor in underdeveloped countries. With the success of her application to Australian Volunteers Abroad she’d soon be heading off to Milne Bay in Papua New Guinea to undertake community work. The trip to Newcastle to collect Chris would be her last in the old Fairlane. He was two and a half now, old enough to spread his wings, to learn what the world had to offer.
She headed along the highway, looking out at long familiar sights. For no apparent reason, she shuddered. An impending sense of doom descended upon her, closing in and enveloping her. Natalie’s hands became clammy, her shoulders ached and she struggled to keep her eyes open against the glare of the road. As she approached Newcastle, her anxiety intensified. An image of her father came to mind. He’d always had a way of spoiling things, of putting a dampener on everything she did. No more, it’s time to live my own life. She’d given notice on the flat, packed everything up, sold what she didn’t need and found a buyer for the car. I don’t need confrontation.
Alas, the moment she arrived at the house, she felt the tension. There was an eerie silence that wasn’t natural. Chris didn’t come out to greet her in his usual way. She pushed against the front door. It opened with the usual creak. “I’m here.” No answer.
Natalie walked into the house. Dad was sitting in the sunroom, the newspaper lying on the table in front of him. He looked older. His face was wizened and pale, creased with worry lines. Better not say anything. Just hope for the best. Her legs were like jelly. Sweat collected under her armpits.
Mum came forward and gave her a hug. “Would you like a cup of tea, Natalie?”
“Yes please. Where’s Chris?”
Dad answered. “He’s playing outside. He’s happy here. No trouble at all. Go off and save the world on your own. Leave him with us. He needs security and a proper upbringing, which you can’t give him.”
Natalie could hear the simmering of the jug and clatter of cups from the kitchen. I knew all along there’d be trouble. Stupid old man thinks he knows everything. I’m not giving in this time. “I’m his mother and I know what’s best for him.” Gwyn glared at her. Despite her resolve, she felt small and inadequate, once more the child who’d been bullied all her life.
“You haven’t got the first idea. He needs guidance and discipline. You let him run wild.”
She could feel herself trembling as her temperature rose. “I don’t want him brought up the way I was. I love him and I want him to learn to think for himself. There’s a big world out there for him to explore.”
Mum’s voice chimed in from behind her. “New Guinea’s full of savages. They run around with spears killing each other and there’re tropical diseases. It’s not safe for a child.”
“There’re expat doctors and hospitals.” Natalie’s breathing became laboured as she struggled to catch her breath. She blinked back the tears. “I’m not arguing with you over this. I’ve made all the arrangements. He’s my son and I’m taking him.”
With that, she brushed back the tears and rushed into Chris’s bedroom, where she hastily packed his clothes and other belongings into a couple of carry bags she’d brought with her. She threw them into the boot of the Fairlane and went back inside. Her mother was nursing Chris.
“Give him to me.” Natalie grabbed him out of her arms. Her parents said nothing as she carried him to the car and strapped him into the child seat.
She got into the driver’s seat and drove away. Her hands were shaking on the steering wheel. As she headed toward Sydney, she kept looking in the rear-view mirror to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Chris slept quietly, apparently unaffected.
At Wyong she stopped for a break, buying herself a chocolate milkshake and Chris a chocolate ice-cream. When he’d eaten it and helped himself to some of her milkshake, they walked over to a nearby park and she pushed him on a swing, consol
ed by the rhythm.
“Where we going?”
“We’re going to Papua New Guinea to live with black people. We’ll make new friends there.”
“Are Grandma and Grandpa coming?”
“No. You’ll see them when we get back. We’re going to fly in the sky in a big aeroplane.”
Getting down from the swing, Chris picked up a stick from the ground and starting whirling it around, making aeroplane noises.
Natalie laughed. It’s going to be all right. At last, I can live the way I want to.
Finally, they were packed and on their way to the airport. Natalie looked out the taxi window. Hopefully, we won’t be delayed by morning peak hour traffic. No, everything seems to be flowing OK. Still, her stomach churned. She’d hardly slept last night. Natalie looked across at Chris, hugging his teddy, a relaxed smile on his face. He was such an adorable little boy with his, pale green eyes and blonde hair, curling up slightly behind his ears. What a relief to have him with me instead of having to face the journey alone. After the episode with her parents, there’d be no one to see them off. It doesn’t matter. Everything will be different once we reach our new home.
The Qantas flight to Port Moresby passed quickly and uneventfully. It would have been great to explore the city but they were stuck, instead, in the hot airport waiting for the Milne Bay plane. Natalie sat on a plastic chair, the sweat trickling down the back of her legs, despite whirring fans overhead. The hum of conversation reverberated throughout the building. It was strange to be unable to understand any of it. She looked around at the native people, with their thick, frizzy hair, sitting on chairs or directly on the concrete floor, many of them nursing children. Others milled about in small groups, some of the men wearing lap-laps around their legs instead of trousers. Women, wearing either cotton smocks or lap-laps below a loose blouse or t-shirt, wandered about, babies hanging off their backs in hand-made string bags attached to the front of their heads. The babies looked incredibly uncomfortable, bunched up like bags of fruit, but none were complaining.
Parallel Lives Page 9