The Three of Us

by Kim Lock

  Millie’s cries raked the skin from their bodies, and Aida relented. She dropped the beans, dried her hands on her apron and enfolded Elsie in her arms.

  ‘What does Dr Spock say?’

  ‘To hell with Spock,’ Elsie mumbled into her shoulder.

  Aida laughed in spite of herself.

  ‘Goodness, that roast smells good.’ Elsie drew away and wiped her nose on the back of her hand. ‘I’m absolutely ravenous.’

  Millie’s cries had changed into desperate, coughing sobs and their hearts broke. Elsie sighed and hauled herself upright, but Aida put a hand on her arm.

  ‘I’ll go.’

  Elsie’s protest was feeble. ‘But you’ve got tea . . .’

  ‘You top and tail the beans. Then it’s pretty much done.’

  ‘You’ve made the whole thing, Ay.’

  Elsie’s forlorn expression irritated her.

  *

  David would arrive around six, he had told Thomas. So at five-thirty, in case David arrived early, Aida slipped out the back door, clutching the warm sandwich in a tea-towel, and crossed the yard. Elsie wanted to go with her, to share a quick cup of tea, but Aida insisted she stay and rest while Millie was finally napping. Besides, Aida had tucked a vindicating bottle of Cab Sav – a gift Thomas had received from a travelling rep – beneath her cardigan that would belong to her entirely.

  About a year ago, Elsie had planted a row of pittosporum along the front of the house. Nourished frequently with generous doses of fertiliser that Thomas brought home, the plants had sprung up into a thick, leafy hedge and shielded their yards from the street. The well-trodden path between the two houses was hidden from sight.

  Aida approached Elsie’s gate between the two yards and felt a heavy sinking in her chest. Thinking Aida was going to feed them, the chooks flapped to the fence.

  ‘Sorry,’ she told them, holding her sandwich tighter. ‘This is my comfort food.’

  It didn’t happen often that Thomas and Elsie entertained like this – once every few months, perhaps. There were times, too, when Aida could even be included – a couple of the local wives knew Aida to be a friend of Elsie’s – the miner’s wife from next door – and her presence, should she be in attendance on more than one occasion, invited no curious probing or extended explanation.

  Aida unlocked the door and stepped inside, kicking her shoes off. The floor was gritty beneath her feet and after setting the wine and sandwich on the table, she went to the laundry for a broom.

  It was different with family. Maintaining the pretence felt more difficult with people who had known them their whole lives; family were the people who, no matter how infrequently one saw them, always felt deserving of an explanation that wasn’t a lie. Elsie’s mother and sisters, for instance, had never met Aida. Nor, in this instance, could David. It was simply more manageable this way.

  Aida sloshed Cab Sav into a tumbler and sat and ate her sandwich alone. It might be more manageable, but that didn’t make it easy.

  *

  ‘Glasson residence, Dorthea speaking.’

  Aida clutched the phone to her ear and tried to will the words from her throat, but it felt as though there were marbles blocking the way.

  ‘Is anyone there, hello?’

  Aida considered hanging up. Set the phone back in its cradle and no one would even know she had called. Maybe she could take a few days to herself; clean the house, shop for food. Give Thomas and Elsie some space. Maybe that was all she needed.

  Aida pressed the mouthpiece tightly against her chin.

  Earlier she had heard coming from next door the sounds of Thomas’s exclaimed greeting, laughter from an unfamiliar male voice. She had peered through a crack in the curtains, but she couldn’t see across to the other front door. The car on the street was a dusty blue wagon.

  ‘Hello . . . ?’ Her mother’s voice moved away from the phone. ‘I don’t know, John, I can’t hear anything.’

  Resting the phone in the crook of her shoulder, she felt the phantom weight of Millie’s head nestled into her neck. Sometimes, Elsie put the baby in the pram and parked it under the gum tree. Said the fresh air was good for her lungs. Even when she wasn’t in her arms, Elsie always knew where her baby was. Elsie was always doing the right things for her baby.

  Aida did not know where her baby was.

  The scent of Millie lingered on Aida’s clothing: Lux soap and milk. The sourness of bottled milk – Aida realised that’s what her baby would have smelled like, too. Elsie said the doctors had told her that her own milk wasn’t good enough, but Aida pictured the swollen, vein-tracked redness of Elsie’s breasts, the greasy damp spots that darkened the fronts of her dresses, and pressed her fingernails into her palms.

  Two years ago, only a few nights after she had finally returned to her parents’ house from the lying-in home, Aida had awoken in her childhood bed in the dark, sweating and painful with fever. She had removed her nightdress and unrolled the bindings from her chest. The last few strips had been gluey across the front and she had flinched as she peeled the last strip away from her nipples; it had come away with a soft un-sticking sound. Aida remembered holding the strip and seeing the yellowish stains on the fabric. Her milk. Her baby’s milk.

  As she stared at the stained binding, Aida had felt a strange sensation in her breasts. A tingling rush, as though the flesh was gathering up like fabric into smocking. And as she watched, her nipples drew out and creamy beads formed at their tips, then dripped and landed on the barren roll of her belly, sliding down her skin and into her underwear. Mixing with her tears.

  Her mother’s voice came tinny through the earpiece. ‘If there’s someone there I can’t hear you. Speak up, please.’

  What kind of a life was this? There were courting couples, there were husbands and wives – but Thomas, Elsie and Aida? Aida didn’t know if a word existed for what they were.

  Aida swigged the last mouthful of wine, and said, ‘Mum, it’s me.’

  ‘Aida?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Oh my goodness. Has something happened?’

  ‘Everything’s fine.’ It was like a reflex, wasn’t it? How are you / I’m fine. But she wasn’t fine. The only reason Aida was calling her mother, whom she had barely spoken to for over a year, was because she felt as though she was unravelling. Soon there might be nothing holding her together. And she didn’t know why.

  ‘I thought I might come and stay for a while.’

  46

  As it turned out, David was half an hour late. Elsie had managed to settle Millie and she was finally asleep when Thomas’s brother arrived. After hugs and handshakes, Thomas’s exclamations and brotherly ribbing over David’s tentative moustache, David bent over Millie’s crib and marvelled at her.

  ‘Bloody hell, Thomas,’ David said.

  ‘You’re not wrong, mate,’ Thomas replied.

  Elsie looked on, feeling an unsettling, uncertain pride.

  The food Aida had spent the afternoon preparing made for an impressive sight once Elsie had reheated it, like new, and spread it on the table. Despite her hunger Elsie ate sparingly, hoping for leftovers she could keep for Aida. But the men ate like beasts, asking Elsie for second and third platefuls. When they were done, the beef bone picked clean and the plates emptied down to smears of gravy, David leaned back and stifled a belch with his hand.

  ‘Beg pardon,’ he said with a grin. ‘Compliments to the chef, Elsie.’

  Elsie smiled and thanked him. He was sitting in Aida’s chair. She stared at David as he enthused to Thomas about ‘this new sheila’ he was seeing and discerned no hint in his features of his blood relation to her husband. She couldn’t even see Eliza-Jane in him, this pseudo-adult. Yet here he was, almost a grown man. It seemed only a few weeks ago that he was hiding behind the doorframe, sneering and making kissing noises at her and Thomas when
they were courting.

  Elsie stood, and the men leaned out of her way as she cleared dishes from the table.

  ‘What happened to – what was her name? Mary?’ Thomas asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The red-head. You told me about her last time.’

  David looked briefly uncomfortable. ‘She was a bit too friendly with the lads. Not a girl I’d bring home to Mum, if you know what I mean.’

  Dishes clanged loudly into the sink. ‘Sorry,’ Elsie said. ‘My hand slipped.’ She tied a floral apron around her waist and set the water running fast.

  ‘But this new one, now that’s how a nice girl should . . .’

  Elsie tuned out. She reminded herself that Aida was often happy to go next door. Claiming she enjoyed the solitude, Aida would listen to music or bake complicated cakes and slow-cooked casseroles that they would all enjoy for days after. Yet this time, something felt different. Elsie remembered Aida’s face the day before as Thomas had apologised and explained they would be having David for tea. They had asked her if she wanted to stay, but she had brushed them off. ‘What would we tell him?’ Aida had said with a hint of resentment. ‘Maybe we should tell him the truth,’ Elsie countered. ‘He’s young, he’s open-minded. Isn’t he?’ Thomas had answered with a grimace. Listening to David now, Elsie realised how naïve she was. An embarrassed heat flooded up the back of her skull.

  ‘And if you’re talking muscle cars, the EH Holden . . .’ David was saying.

  Elsie finished the dishes and made coffee, setting it on the table in front of the men. Thomas sought to catch her eye but she avoided him. Standing behind the bench, Elsie sipped her coffee, pretending to busy herself putting away the plates and cutlery. Over the voices of Thomas and David, she heard Millie begin to cry. Her coffee only half-finished, she set the mug aside and hurried from the kitchen. The men’s conversation continued unbroken as she disappeared into the darkened bedroom.

  A few hours later, David, finishing his fifth beer, announced it was probably time for him to head home. He was unsteady on his feet as he made his way up the drive to his car. Thomas and Elsie waved from the doorway.

  They closed the door. Elsie heaved a sigh of relief; it was after 10pm. ‘I’m going to get Aida now.’

  *

  She found Aida in a fug of cigarette smoke, cross-legged on the lounge room floor. An empty bottle of red wine stood at the edge of the kitchen bench. Rhythmic strings of The Chantays’ ‘Pipeline’ rolled from the record player – a gift from her father not long after she had returned to Church Street. Elsie had called the gift thoughtful; Aida had said it was a bribe for her silence.

  Elsie slumped onto the carpet, squinting in the haze. ‘What are you doing?’

  A cigarette dangled from the corner of Aida’s lips and she held scissors in her hand. Scattered on the carpet around her were the remnants of a magazine.

  ‘Well,’ Aida began, ‘I was originally clipping out some recipes. Then I saw a few skirts that I liked and thought I could copy them. Then I just kinda . . .’ she glanced about, as though for the first time noticing the strewn paper. She frowned. ‘I’m not sure what I was cutting out after that.’ She stubbed out her cigarette in an overflowing ashtray on the carpet. ‘How was tea?’

  Elsie caught the bitter tone in the question ‘Fine,’ she said warily. ‘I’m so grateful to the trouble you went for that lovely meal. David’s grown up –’

  ‘I called Mum.’

  At first Elsie wasn’t sure she had heard correctly. ‘Your mother?’

  Aida nodded.

  ‘After all this time?’

  Aida flicked the blades of the scissors open and shut. ‘Funny, it doesn’t feel that long. And her voice sounded so familiar. Like I’d only talked to her last week.’

  Elsie felt the tension of not being told the whole story. ‘What did you talk about?’

  Aida dropped the scissors. Still refusing to look at Elsie, she said, ‘She’s almost two.’

  Elsie said, ‘I know, love.’

  Aida scraped shredded paper into a pile.

  ‘I know it’s her birthday soon,’ Elsie added. ‘But your parents . . . they didn’t want you to find her then. They won’t have changed their minds now.’

  ‘I know that,’ Aida said, peevishly. ‘I’m not looking for information. I just want to see them. It’s been long enough.’

  ‘You’re going to see them? Are they coming to visit?’

  ‘No. I’m going to stay with them for a while.’

  Elsie blinked and looked at the pile of paper. ‘Do you want me to –?’

  ‘What? Come with me?’ A harsh laugh came out of her. ‘G’day, Mum, I haven’t seen you in years, and by the way, here’s the woman I’m living with. She and her husband and I all sleep together.’

  ‘Why are you being so combative?’

  ‘I’m angry.’

  ‘Why?’

  Aida struggled to her feet. ‘Never mind. Let’s go home. Thomas will be waiting.’

  ‘Is it something I did? Or Thomas?’

  Aida stumbled to the back door and pulled it open. Elsie followed her, stood beside her in the doorway. The night air was crisp; the gum tree stood in shadows. Aida reeked of smoke and red wine.

  Aida said, ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘Of what, love?’ Elsie asked gently.

  ‘I don’t know. Lately, I just . . .’ she hugged the top of her arms, closing her eyes. ‘I feel so scared it’s like I can’t put myself somewhere safe. I don’t know how to make the fear go away, because I don’t know what I’m afraid of. I don’t know where I belong.’

  Elsie touched her arm. ‘You have us.’

  A breeze stirred through the gum tree, bending its limbs in the dark.

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Aida said, shaking her off. ‘This isn’t about us. This is about me, and what I did back then, and trying to figure out who I am without . . .’

  Elsie felt a rush of pique. ‘Say it, Aida.’

  ‘Without being the tag-along in someone else’s marriage.’

  Tears pricked her eyes. About six months after Thomas had become supportive of Elsie and Aida’s relationship, the three of them had taken a drive into the Riverland and camped at a quiet, leafy site on a bend in the Murray. They had spent one day and two nights crammed inside Thomas’s triangular ‘two-man’ tent while outside, rain poured incessantly. It was within those close, steamy confines, listening to the constant patter of water on canvas, that Aida had first admitted her fear of becoming a ‘third wheel’.

  Back then, in the tent, Elsie had responded, ‘That could never be true.’ And it wasn’t. Elsie hadn’t cribbed from her love for Thomas in order to love Aida, as though her affection was some finite currency. Instead it was as though that expansive love had been there all along, and now it had a purpose: Aida. Fitting her life into Aida’s had felt like a completion, like finding the missing thing.

  Elsie said, ‘You know that is not how I feel. Or Thomas.’

  ‘But it’s how I feel. And what about Millie?’

  ‘What about her? She’s two weeks old.’

  ‘I mean – what about as she gets older?’

  Elsie didn’t know how to answer, everything that came to her felt like a platitude. ‘I know the birth reminded you of things –’

  Aida glared at her. ‘Please, don’t.’

  Elsie rocked back on her feet. Why hadn’t she foreseen how difficult Millie’s birth might be for Aida? How caught up had Elsie been in her own feelings, her own rush of crazy exhausted love for her child, not to have anticipated that it would pry open Aida’s old wounds?

  ‘I am so sorry,’ Elsie said. ‘I want to be here for you. I don’t want you to leave.’

  Aida wouldn’t look at her, leaning against the door jamb so she wouldn’t sway on her feet, glaring out into t
he night. ‘I don’t want you to be sorry,’ she said. ‘I want to stop wondering.’

  Elsie would give Aida anything. Her heart, her baby, her husband.

  But the answer Aida sought? That was the one thing Elsie could not give.

  47

  Thomas drove Aida into Adelaide. Elsie stayed home with the baby. Since the night of the tea with David, Elsie had been alternating between staunch sniffling, bouts of irate silence, and fits of outright sobbing, pushing Thomas’s arms away when he tried to hug her.

  Aida had been quiet. Uncertain, but steely. Refusing to discuss anything, unanswered questions hanging over all of their heads.

  A short way from the bus terminal, Thomas pulled the car over to the kerb. He turned off the engine and looked straight ahead. They sat without speaking, watching the cars pass them on the street. Up ahead the bus terminal was a stream of activity: buses came and went, passengers appearing and disappearing from their steel bellies like things sucked in and out of rock-pools by the tides.

  Without Elsie, they were two similar pieces without the hinge that held them together. Loose, adrift.

  He had been practising the line all morning, but when he went to speak his throat betrayed him and he had to stop and cough a couple of times before starting again.

  ‘I know you miss your . . . daughter. Nothing could replace her. But I want you to know that I consider you as much Millie’s mother as Elsie.’

  Aida took his hand from the steering wheel and cupped it between her own. Then she placed it above her breast. Beneath his hand he could feel her heart beating, thudding rapidly as if she was out of breath. She lifted his hand and pressed her lips to his palm.

  ‘Open the boot for me,’ she said. ‘Help me with my case.’

  So he did. He took the keys from the ignition and they got out of the car. He opened the boot, lifted out her trunk, and shut the lid again with a thud.