by Meg Mason
As she lay on her side, nursing frustration, Stu turned again and fitted himself in around her, hand reaching towards her knickers.
Abi moved it away. ‘We can’t until six weeks. Sorry.’
‘What? Oh right. Ignore that, it’s just muscle memory.’ Stu’s breath was warm on the back of her neck.
Although she had been the one to put him off, Abi felt faintly offended. ‘Well good, because the last time I checked, it still looked like there’s been quite a violent murder in my pants.’
Stu yawned. ‘Yeah, well considering the southbound traffic that’s come out of you recently babe, I was hardly expecting much of the northbound variety.’
‘Wow, Stu. That’s a really powerful image. Very visual.’
‘I am very visual,’ Stu said without irony. ‘Okay then. Anyway, I really need to go to sleep. Don’t worry too much about the money, eh? It’s early days and I can just ask Mum to bring us some more casseroles until we’ve figured things out.’
As Abi began to drift off, Stu muttered something about finally finding the old Nokia he’d been meaning to give her. ‘But I reckon calling your Mum will cost a bomb, so maybe you can just text her instead,’ he said, voice trailing off. It was the only privation for which Abi felt grateful. Rae found talking on the phone tiring anyway, she told herself against a stab of guilt, so texting every other day was probably best for both of them.
12.
I would hang on to those
The next day began when Abi decided it might as well. Stu was already gone when she woke up, and after she checked Jude and found him still sleeping, she ate a mug of Stu’s Nutri-Grain with a teaspoon and realised she had nothing to do. Abi peered down at the big house, but no one came out. As she squared a pile of Stu’s drawing blocks, the phone rang.
It was Elaine, whose voice on the other end of the line sounded like a recorder blowing a never-ending high C. Privately, Abi had begun to think of her as the Brush.
‘I’m not sure what you have planned for today but you and the baby are going to need structure, especially once Stuart is not around as much.’ Abi gripped the phone, feeling as though she was being surveilled from headquarters, the Kellett family home in Gordon. Stuart was hardly around now, but Abi decided not to interrupt Elaine’s flow. ‘You will need to try and meet other mothers. They’re unlikely to be as young as you in such a nice area, but you take my point.’
‘Yes, no, I know. I’ve already phoned up about mothers’ groups, and got a load of hot leads.’
It was true that before setting out on her walk the previous day, Abi had looked up the number for the Cremorne Early Childhood Unit. Kim on Reception asked when she was due.
‘I’ve already had him.’ Abi told her. ‘He’s coming up for four weeks. I’ve just moved here.’
That was going to be a problem, Kim was sorry to say. All the groups were put together by the midwives prenatally.
‘He shouldn’t actually have been born until last week though so I could technically still be pregnant if you think about it. If he went over. Maybe we can count it from then?’
Kim said they could not, but welcomed Abi to try any one of the drop-in playgroups listed on the website under Community Groups. ‘Mothers usually start when the little ones are one,’ Kim said. Abi had hung up and made a mental note to call back in eleven and a bit months.
Elaine cleared her throat. ‘Are you listening, Abi?’
‘Yes, sorry. Also, I meant to say, I actually have met one other mother already. Down at the pool yesterday, so that’s good. She’s really nice.’
Elaine did not need to know that she was also probably seventy. ‘Well, I’m pleased to hear that. I’d try very hard to make her a friend.’
‘Definitely.’
‘And you’ll know there’s a baby music group, Little Movers it’s called, at the Uniting Church on Wycombe Road on weekday mornings.’ Elaine’s voice bristled with challenge. ‘It starts in half an hour. I suppose you were just about to leave for it.’
‘I was. You’re right. I was just looking up how to get there.’
‘Well good, because it’s a very steep walk. There’ll be a morning tea, but you won’t have had time to make something I expect. We’ll see you on Sunday. I have to go. I don’t like calling mobiles.’
Abi added it to her mental list of Elaine’s dislikes, just below losing track of coolers and babies being born out of wedlock. Reluctantly, she dressed, fed Jude for long enough to last him all the way up to the church and took a packet of Monte Carlos out of the cupboard above the fridge.
They arrived minutes before the music was due to start. A woman sat behind a trestle table set up with a money tin and a roll of sticky name labels. Hers was a more permanent variety of name tag, encased in hard plastic, attached with a safety pin, ‘HELLO, MY NAME IS ROS’, handwritten in capitals. She held out her hand for the suggested gold coin donation.
‘Prams stay outside and nannies usually sit towards the back.’
‘Oh. I’m not his nanny. I’m his mum.’
‘Are you sure?’ HELLO, MY NAME IS ROS looked sceptical.
‘You don’t look old enough.’
‘I’m definitely sure. I remember him flying out of me Christmas just gone.’ Abi took the biscuits out from under the pram. ‘Do I give these to you?’
‘Oh.’ Ros’s face was a picture of disappointment. ‘I would hang on to those. This isn’t really that sort of group. I’d bring fruit next time. Or sushi. All the littlies seem to like sushi.’
Abi entered the hall with Jude in her arms and made her way towards a tight circle of mothers sitting cross-legged on the floor, babies on their laps. Hello My Name is Someone Else was taking wooden instruments out of a tub and arranging them in an intricate formation. The few mothers who had not managed to secure a place in the ring milled around its periphery, talking to their babies in educational tones. Abi felt certain that should a place in the circle open up, their teaching moment would be happily abandoned.
As Abi made her way over, a woman whose bearing suggested she was, to all purposes, the head mother, turned towards her with an expansive smile already in place.
‘Oh, I thought you were Katrina,’ she said, face falling.
‘Thank God it’s not,’ another one said. ‘I really hope they’ve stopped coming. Not for our sakes, but for the children. You cannot tell me it’s any fun for her anyway when Ethan has one of his meltdowns. You know he scratched a newborn last week and it bled. I seriously hope it’d had its tetanus.’
Abi waited for someone to point out that you couldn’t really get tetanus from an angry toddler. No one did.
‘She needs to get him assessed. He is so on the spectrum.’
‘I wouldn’t be surprised. I’d want to know, personally. If it was the other way around and it was mine. I’d want someone to say something.’
After a minute more, Abi knelt on the floor behind them and put Jude discreetly on her breast, imagining what it would be like to announce to a group of women that cashews were actually the most toxic nut according to a thing she’d just read. To declare with authority that nine months was the time to face the car seat the other way.
Husbands were referred to by their first names: ‘Craig likes a lie-in.’ ‘Rod’s in Japan.’ ‘I told Chris no more golf til everyone’s at school, I’m sorry but there it is.’
Abi looked down at Jude, feeding intently in her arms, kissed his upturned cheek, and whispered, ‘Stu is a student and earns fifty dollars a shift.’
A final rice shaker was added to the arrangement of children’s instruments, now more elaborate than a Celtic Fertility Circle, and the talking ceased.
13.
Clayton’s panicking
When the singing reached its merciful conclusion, Abi went over to look at the morning tea. A mass of children had already clustered around it and unable to break in, Abi carried Jude to a semi-circle of empty chairs. Hoping no one was watching, she drew the biscuits out of her ba
g and ate one behind her hand.
‘You’ll love a Monte Carlo when you’re older, Jude,’ she said, wiping a fallen crumb off his tummy.
‘Can I sit here? Please?’ said a woman who appeared in front of her. ‘Before someone tries to put me on the tea roster?’
Abi looked up. A mother not much older than her was already shrugging off an oversized nappy bag, and with a single movement, she swung the toddler on her hip onto her lap as she sat down. The boy seemed enormous to Abi. He wore huge brown sandals with velcro straps and could pick up his own dummy from where it was clipped to his chest and manoeuvre it all the way into his mouth.
‘I’m Tiffany. This is Nicholas. He’s had a virus but he’s fine now. Look at your little one! He’s so titchy.’
‘Are you English?’ Abi asked, realising only then that the woman was speaking in the voice of home.
‘Wolverhampton originally, but then Clapham. You are as well.’
‘Croydon,’ Abi said.
‘Which bit, bab?’
‘The less nice bit.’
Abi hesitated and offered her a biscuit.
‘Thank fuck,’ Tiffany said, taking three at once. ‘I hate those stupid fruit kebabs. So how long have you been in Sydney, then?’
‘Since Sunday.’
‘Right, gosh. Okay. We’re coming up five years. Hold on, look busy.’ Tiffany released Nicholas from her lap and shunted him gently towards the free play area as an ox-like mother strode towards them, pushing a huge red stroller that had escaped redirection to the designated pram area.
‘Well, that’s perfect,’ she said, braking the pram. ‘I finally get here and she’s asleep. We’ve missed the music and I’ve blown two dollars bringing her out. Hello Tiffany. And what’s your name? I haven’t seen you before.’
‘I’m Abi. And this is Jude.’
‘Well he can’t be more than a week old. You’re keen, I’ll say that. Coming here with one that small.’
‘He’s older than he looks. He was a bit early.’
‘Lydia, in there, is sixteen months. She’s not walking yet. She doesn’t need to. She’s a bum shuffler. Gets around like nothing else. Clayton’s panicking, but I’m not.’
Tiffany sighed and looked away.
‘How have you been anyway, Tiffany? We all got your cold after last week, thanks very much. Lydia couldn’t go to care but I got it the hardest.’
‘How did you know it was our cold?’
‘Because we saw you here in the morning and then Lydia was 37.9 by bedtime. Clayton wanted to take her to A&E but I knew it was just what you and Nicholas had.’
‘Well, I’m very sorry. We will try and keep our germs to ourselves from now on.’
‘I haven’t been right since,’ the woman sighed, dropping into a facing chair.
‘No. I can see that,’ Tiffany said, then leaned closer to Abi, ‘Let’s scoot, bab. A seniors dance class comes in next and although getting the ride-ons back in the cupboard before then is generally the most exciting bit of the Little Movers experience, I cannot be arsed to help pack away.’
‘There’s no way I’m doing it either.’ As the woman rose again, she reached a hand behind her back and performed an intimate readjustment of her leggings. Abi, still seated, could tell they had also ridden up uncomfortably in the front. ‘I was only here for five minutes but I’m going to get some morning tea at least. I hope they’ve got fruit kebabs. Nice to meet you, Abi. See you, Tiffany.’
Abi started gathering her things. ‘Do you live near here?’ Her voice rose as she mustered courage. ‘Maybe we could meet up one day but only if you want to. If you’re not busy. Don’t worry though. I don’t even have my diary here anyway, so I probably can’t either.’
Tiffany looked at her sadly. ‘I’d have loved to, but the truth is me and Nicholas’s dad are splitting up and I’m going back to the UK next week . . . I don’t know how long for.’
‘I’m really sorry,’ Abi said, as much for their marriage as her own empty diary.
‘All right, well I better go and get Nicholas before he pulls that white board over on himself. It was lovely to meet you Abi. Good luck. It’s lovely here, you’ll like it. Once you’re used to the heat and those fucking birds that sound like crying babies.’
Tiffany walked off to retrieve her son. At the door, she turned back and waved. Abi waved back and ate the last Monte Carlo.
* * *
Abi took a longer way home, winding slowly down the hill to where the main road curved past an entrance to the harbourside path. She bumped the pram down the wide stone steps, and after a series of bends, she came to the pool from the other direction.
The woman she had met the day before was standing in front of the gate in the same robe and sunhat, this time with a small dog that strained at its leash as she tried to knot it around a picket. Abi’s heart leaped. As she approached, the dog started yapping. Jude startled and let out a sharp cry which made the woman turn.
‘Ah, hello again.’ She smiled broadly. ‘Dear Jude, I am sorry. You must excuse this wretched animal.’
Hearing his name in the woman’s rich, lilting tone gave Abi a little shiver – that she’d even remembered it.
‘Domenica Regina, be quiet. Sit!’
‘Is your dog really called Domenica Regina?’ Abi bit her thumbnail.
‘Well, she came to me as Sophie. But I simply refuse to be a woman of a certain age with a silly dog named like some longed-for child. And since the ridiculous animal is always trying to project a royal bearing, well – you can see.’ She lifted the latch and held out her arm to usher Abi through with the pram. ‘You can’t imagine the indignity of having to use the words bichon frise in company.’
The woman chose a bench in the shade and took off her hat. Waves slopped noisily below the boardwalk. ‘Will you sit?’ she asked, sliding across to make room for Abi.
Abi parked Jude in deeper shade and sat down. ‘The dog must be good company though? They say companions are good for . . .’
‘. . . the aged? I beg your pardon.’ There was a note of teasing in the woman’s voice. ‘My eldest daughter got her for me after my husband passed away last year. Absolutely did not consult me but that is very typical Polly, do you see? She’s also in London – a more salubrious part than her sister, I should say. I expect she felt guilty for going back so soon afterwards, as well she ought, so she foist an animal upon me in consolation.’
The woman spoke with an accent Abi could not identify. It was proper, but neither English nor Australian. ‘You’re not from the UK, are you?’
‘No. I was raised in the east, before I married Frederick.’
‘Oh, like the Emirates or whatnot?’
‘The eastern suburbs, dear. Rose Bay. Now tell me, why have I never seen you until yesterday and now we’ve come across each other twice?’ The woman smiled with bright, waiting eyes and Abi felt as if the knot in her stomach loosened for the first time in days, or weeks, or her entire life until that moment.
14.
The pastry will lose its crunch
Roger had offered to meet them at the station and drive them back to the house. It was Sunday, the day of Elaine’s scheduled luncheon. ‘There’s a car seat for the wee tacker in there,’ Roger said as he held the door open for Abi. ‘Elaine thinks of everything. She’s a marvel.’
As soon as Abi had mastered its complicated system of buckles, Roger nosed out of the carpark and waited for a break in the fast-moving traffic. The highway was banked by sparse trees, with no footpath on either side. It was leafy, Abi thought, without being in any way green. ‘This is very . . . foresty out here, isn’t it?’
‘Yes. We like it. So close to the national park,’ Roger caught Abi’s eye in the rear vision mirror. ‘And the birds. We get all sorts up here. Galahs . . .’ the thought petered out and it was left a list of one.
‘You could have gone then, Dad,’ Stu said. ‘Dad, go. Seriously, there’s stacks of room.’
Finally Roger sa
w his chance and they drove for a while in silence. Abi took a photograph of Jude in the capsule on her phone and texted it to Rae with a short message. Although it must have been the middle of the night, her mother’s sleeping pattern was unpredictable and an erratically spaced reply came back immediately, followed by another.
‘Do u know whereabts of teh nail clipper??’
‘Pat is havingfoot trouble.’
Hoping there was no connection between the two, Abi put her phone away and looked ahead. Above Roger’s headrest, she noticed a circle of moony white scalp in the centre of his thinning hair, as soft and vulnerable as Jude’s fontanel. Worried that she might reach and touch it, Abi leaned between the front seats and said, ‘I love Australian birds I meant to say.’
‘You don’t love that one you said sounds like a lot of chavs having a go at each other,’ Stu said.
‘Now, I’ve heard that word, chav,’ Roger said, eyes on the road. ‘But you’ll have to tell me what it is.’
Abi faltered. ‘It’s a girl who’s a bit of a sla– a bit common? From the estates often. Some people call them pramfaces as well? They wear shell suits and have names like Chanel, spelt with extra letters and whatnot.’
Roger accepted her explanation with a single nod. Stu had started jumping between radio stations, making further conversation impossible.
Eventually they turned into a quiet residential street. The driveways leading up to wide, single-storey houses shimmered with heat. At a stop sign, Roger reached into the pocket of his trousers to retrieve his phone. ‘Your mother wanted me to message her when we’re ten minutes away so she can put the vegies on.’
He handed the phone to Stu but he shut it in the glovebox. ‘Don’t worry about it, Dad. Let’s go crazy and just turn up, eh?’
It was clear when they pulled up in front of the Kellett homestead and saw Elaine peering through a gap in the vertical blinds, that she was not pleased. She appeared in the carport like a shot and stood with her hands on her hips. The brushed plume quivered as though independently furious. ‘The vegies, Roger! Didn’t I say?’