Lost Without You

by Rachael Johns

  ‘You make it sound like you’re a hundred, Aunty Clara.’ This from Aoifa—she was such a sweetheart.

  ‘Some days I feel it.’

  ‘If you’re a hundred, what does that make us?’ Her mother gestured to her father, who’d roused himself for this conversation.

  The lines around his eyes crinkled as he smiled. ‘Whatever makes you happy, love.’

  ‘Thanks, Dad.’

  ‘You could go on a cruise,’ suggested Siobhan. ‘Aoifa’s always telling us we should try one and I’ve heard they’re a great place for older single people to meet.’

  ‘If you don’t get seasick,’ countered Fiona. She’d always had a weak stomach.

  ‘Or sign up to some kind of club.’ This from Bridget.

  Ranaldo winked. ‘My mum had some luck at lawn bowls.’

  ‘Ooh.’ Eileen clapped her hands together. ‘I saw Martha Struthers at the funeral of an old friend the other day.’

  Martha Struthers was the mother of a boy Clara had briefly dated (if you could even call it that) in high school.

  ‘And she told me that—’

  ‘Let me guess?’ Clara interrupted. ‘She told you that her son, Michael, is recently divorced and on the market again?’

  Eileen nodded excitedly. ‘Yes. He was such a lovely boy. You should look him up.’

  ‘No way. I never even liked him when I went out with him. Why on earth would I go back for more?’

  In hindsight, Michael—a bit of a nerd—had been another instance of her playing the helper.

  ‘You could join Tinder.’ Aoifa smiled at her boyfriend as she snuggled against him. ‘That’s how I met Xavier.’

  Clara raised her eyebrows. She’d heard about Tinder and unless she wanted a sexed-up toy boy, it was not the place for her. And right now, she was done with this conversation.

  ‘Thanks for your concern,’ she said in her most authoritative voice. ‘But isn’t it time for Aoifa to open her presents?’

  Everyone approved of this plan so the teens were summoned from the theatre room and they all clustered around the large dining room table to watch Aoifa unwrap her gifts. A pile of discarded paper grew on one end of the table and by the time she’d finished, everyone was starving.

  Dinner—a number of different casseroles—was laid out on the island kitchen bench and everyone was instructed to serve themselves and then take a seat. If they could find one. The older generation were seated at the massive table; everyone else had to squash up on the couches or sit on the floor. As the food was devoured, the decibel level in the house rose once again with everyone talking and eating as if it were an Olympic sport.

  As usual Clara and her father were the only ones not trying to be heard over everybody else. Her nieces and nephews talked Snapchat, Instagram and other things she didn’t understand, while her sisters and brothers-in-law moaned about the hardships of getting teenagers through high school and her mother told them everything they were doing wrong. Clara didn’t have anything to say on any of these topics, so as it often did her mind drifted into a fantasy about what her life would have been like if Laura and her other babies had lived. She could close her eyes and still feel her daughter’s tiny hand in hers as if it were real.

  She tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat. Laura would have been the oldest of the next generation, so Clara would have plenty to say on all things parenting. She’d have been the font of knowledge and wisdom for her sisters and all Laura’s cousins would have looked up to her and hung off her every word.

  Would Laura even be here now or would she be off in some far-flung corner of the globe pursuing her passions? Clara often wondered what they would have been. What her daughter would have grown up to do. Would she have followed in her father’s footsteps and gone into the music industry? Or would she have been a doctor? A teacher? A journalist? If Laura had lived would any of them still be living in Sydney or would Rob’s career have flourished and taken them further afield years ago? There’d been talk of moving to London before One Track Mind had disbanded.

  She could easily visualise this whole other reality about how good her life could have been, if only … But this bubble of bliss never lasted and once again she found herself feeling like an outsider in her own family. She knew they didn’t mean to make her feel this way and she wouldn’t want them to censor their conversations around her but …

  It was a relief when the dog toddled in from outside and slumped under the kitchen table, no doubt hoping that someone would accidentally drop food into his open mouth.

  ‘Hey, boy.’ When Clara reached down and scratched his ears, he moved closer to her, settling on her feet. She liked the feel of his heavy body against her legs and wondered if maybe she should get a pet. Then again, pets tied you down, and Bridget’s mention of cruises had got her thinking. Maybe she should do something crazy like jet off on an overseas holiday. She was only fifty-three; if her parents’ ages were anything to go by, she still might have a third of her life left.

  Just because the earlier bit hadn’t turned out how she’d hoped didn’t mean she had to admit defeat.

  Josie

  Josie locked the door behind her, tucked her wallet, key and mobile phone into her jacket pockets and then started walking fast towards the sea front. Thanks to Nik’s love of the ocean, they’d rented an apartment in the coastal suburb of Coogee when he’d accepted the job in Sydney. And although she didn’t feel the same urge to reside by the sea as her surfer husband, she had to admit the views were stunning and she loved the restaurants and cafés scattered along the beachfront. Right now, her close proximity to somewhere that sold alcohol was a blessing.

  She followed the lights and the sounds of the waves crashing against the shore and in less than five minutes had the choice of the iconic Coogee Bay Hotel or the Pavilion, with its slightly more upmarket bar, depending on which way she chose to go. She’d been to The Pav (as the locals called it) a couple of times with Nik and recalled the sounds of families laughing together from the restaurant downstairs. Scowling at the memory, she dithered only a moment on the corner of Arden and Dolphin Streets before turning in the direction of the hotel. Right now, happy individuals made her cranky, but happy families were even worse.

  Her pace brisk, she headed down the footpath, careful not to make eye contact with the Saturday night revellers. When she got to the hotel, she faltered at the entrance. The atmosphere inside simply didn’t match her mood. Everyone was talking over pints of beer, barely acknowledging the band that played in the background, and no one had hit the dance-floor.

  That’s what Josie was in the mood for—dancing off some steam. She could be lost in a crowd while dancing, whereas if she just sat at the bar, someone might try to talk to her. She shuddered at the thought. What had she even been thinking coming out alone at night? How pathetic.

  Perhaps she should head home, via the bottle shop of course.

  Yet, as she retreated back the way she’d come, other music caught her attention and she glanced up Coogee Bay Road—it came from a place that had only opened a few months ago. She remembered there’d been a flyer in the letterbox and a couple of the teachers from school had been at the grand opening. The consensus was The Inferno (in big flashing lights) wasn’t sure whether it wanted to be a pub, a bar or a nightclub but she didn’t care what it was as long as it had alcohol, good music and a place where she could dance until she dropped.

  Hopefully this combo would mean she’d eventually head home drunk and exhausted and would achieve the slumber that had been eluding her for so long. With this goal in mind, she joined the small queue of people outside and then raised her eyebrows at the bouncer when she got to the front and he asked her for ID.

  ‘I’m thirty-bloody-five!’

  ‘Consider it a compliment, sweetheart.’ He winked and gestured for her to head inside.

  Josie hated when people she didn’t know called her ‘sweetheart’ but she didn’t want to waste precious drinking tim
e telling him off, so she put her irritation behind her and looked around for the bar. If she was in a mood to appreciate the scenery she would have—the décor of low lighting and dark-hued walls scattered with framed photos of celebrated musicians and actors was exactly the kind of thing she adored. This place reminded her of the club she’d been singing at the night she met Nik but none of that mattered tonight. She heard the sizzle of something like fajitas being brought out from the kitchen and turned to see a waitress weaving through people to one of the high tables. They smelt good, but she wasn’t here to eat.

  Spotting the bar along one wall, she made a beeline for it. Behind a buff barman showing off with a cocktail shaker, bottles of booze lined a mirrored wall—her choices were endless—but all Josie wanted was something that would hit the spot fast.

  ‘What can I get ya, sweetheart?’ asked the barman when he’d finished his cocktail magic. She had to admit the drink he’d just handed to a giggly girl beside her looked fabulous.

  ‘Is that strong?’ she asked, nodding towards the girl who was turning away.

  Buff Barman winked and flashed her a toothy grin. ‘Potent.’

  ‘In that case, I’ll have one of those,’ she said, settling onto the stool.

  ‘Coming right up.’

  As the barman set to work, a shadow fell over Josie and someone filled the spot where Giggly Cocktail Girl had been only a moment before. Instinctively she turned to look and saw an older man—perhaps twenty years her senior—hauling himself onto the seat beside her. His dark hair was pulled back in a greasy ponytail and his stubble wasn’t of the sexy variety, however something about him made her think he might have been quite good-looking in his prime. He had a kind of presence and looked vaguely familiar.

  But the best thing about him was that he didn’t look hyped up on happy pills like the girl, the barman and the bouncer. His shoulders were drooped and he seemed to radiate defeat.

  As if he felt her gaze, he turned his head just enough to meet her eye. ‘Hey.’

  Josie blinked, startled and vexed that he’d spoken to her.

  Without acknowledging Sad Guy’s greeting, she turned back to face the bar as the barman placed her fluorescent green potion in a plastic cup in front of her. She handed him a twenty-dollar note, plucked the stupid paper umbrella from the top of the drink and dumped it on the bar, before snatching up the glass and walking off. She stuck the straw between her lips, relishing the slight burn at the back of her throat as the liquid went down.

  You probably weren’t supposed to drink cocktails like they were shots, but that’s exactly what Josie did, so that by the time she reached the dancefloor her plastic glass was empty. She discarded the cup on a nearby table and forced her way into the throng of bodies rocking and bopping along to the latest Calvin Harris.

  For the next hour or so the DJ played a mix of tunes from the seventies right up to the songs that were currently hitting the charts and Josie danced with pure abandon. The ear-piercingly loud music drowned out the thoughts in her head and the adrenaline made her feel alive again. When something came on she didn’t love, she used the opportunity to grab another drink. Sweat trickled down her neck and she could feel her dress sticking to her back. Her calves ached and she was way too hot in her jacket but it held her wallet and her phone, so in lieu of anywhere safe to leave it, she kept it on.

  And kept on dancing, not wanting this buzz to fade.

  ‘Oh my God, I love this song,’ she shrieked when eighties hit ‘Lost Without You, Baby’ blasted all around them.

  The slightly stocky blond guy she’d kind of been dancing with gave her a bemused look. ‘Who sings it?’

  She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. ‘One Track Mind.’

  ‘Never heard of them.’

  ‘What?’ She couldn’t believe her ears—this was like admitting you’d never heard of Men at Work or Jimmy Barnes. One Track Mind may have broken up almost thirty years ago but ‘Lost Without You, Baby’ was almost as much a part of Australia’s music history as ‘Down Under’ and ‘Khe Sanh’.

  He shrugged and nodded towards her now-empty plastic cup. ‘Can I get you another one of those?’

  She glanced down and found herself saying, ‘Sure. Thanks. Why not?’

  Josie watched him closely as he made his way to the bar to grab another. She might be well on the way to drunk, but she wasn’t stupid and she wasn’t about to have some dude spike her drink. When he returned, they clinked cups—not the same with plastic as it was with glass—and then Josie took a sip. The liquid went straight to her head and for the first time she felt herself unintentionally sway a little.

  Her dance partner shot out a hand to steady her. ‘You alright?’

  ‘Yeah. Fine.’ She nodded, resolving to sip not skol this cocktail.

  ‘Good.’ But instead of dropping his hand, he slipped it further around her waist and pulled her against him.

  She felt something hard press against her belly and before she knew what was happening, his mouth covered hers and he shoved his tongue inside. Horror washed over her.

  What the hell!

  She yanked her lips from his and palmed her hand against his chest, pushing him hard. He stumbled and surprise flashed across his face.

  ‘How dare you!’ If she was going to cheat on Nik, it wouldn’t be with someone so ignorant about music. Fury pulsed through her.

  ‘You’ve been giving me the eye all night. Don’t tell me you didn’t want me to do that!’

  ‘I didn’t want you to do that,’ she growled, one unwanted kiss rapidly unravelling all the good the dancing had done.

  ‘Then you’re a cock-tease. You don’t think I bought you a drink out of the kindness of my fucking heart, do you?’

  ‘I’m not sure what I was thinking but you can have your fucking drink!’ Josie threw the cocktail—plastic cup and all—at him, before she turned and fled the dance-floor, hot angry tears exploding from her eyes as she ran.

  She pulled her jacket around her, suddenly cold and a little scared the jerk might follow her. But damn him to hell for ruining her night. And damn Nik for being far away in Japan.

  Weaving through the crowd, Josie barely noticed the people cursing as she bumped into them. She couldn’t get out of the pub/ bar/club fast enough. She emerged into the night, in desperate need of fresh air, but as she gulped for oxygen, she was hit by the smell of cigarette smoke instead.

  Her last cigarette was over two years ago—Nik had convinced her to quit not long after they’d met—but the aroma now assaulted her senses, in a good way. Instinctively she turned to follow the smell and saw that the man attached to the cigarette was none other than Sad Guy from the bar. Leaning against the wall, puffing away as if his life depended on it.

  ‘Do you have another one of those?’ she found herself asking.

  He looked up, surprise and recognition crossing his face. Then, he straightened a little and shoved a hand into his jacket pocket. Without a word, he conjured a packet of cigarettes and offered it to her. As she took one, he dug out a lighter and did the honours.

  ‘Man … I’d forgotten how good that was.’ Josie sighed as the nicotine flooded her body and provided almost immediate relief. So what if it was bad for her? This was an up-yours to the body that kept failing her.

  ‘Have I inadvertently lured you off the wagon?’

  ‘Maybe.’ She took another puff. ‘But don’t think you can give me a lecture, because that would be the pot—’

  He held up a hand. ‘Relax. I’ve no interest in lecturing anyone. I’m the last person qualified to judge, besides, I bet you have good reason for faltering.’

  She inhaled again. ‘Yes, I believe I do.’

  Silence reigned between them a few long moments before he broke it. ‘Right then, what is it?’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Your reason.’ He nodded at the cigarette between her fingers.

  And, if Josie had been surprised by this stranger’s question, she was even more surpr
ised when she found herself answering.

  ‘I’m sad,’ she said. ‘I’m sadder than I’ve ever been in my life. I hate my body and I think my marriage is in trouble.’

  ‘That’s quite a lot you’re shouldering there. No wonder you looked homicidal earlier when I said hello.’

  ‘Sorry. I’m kind of a cow lately, but I can’t seem to snap out of it.’ She went to take another puff and then realised the cigarette was almost done. Without asking, he lit her another.

  ‘What’s the trouble with your marriage?’

  ‘My husband and I have been trying to have a baby. First time we actually got pregnant by accident but I had a miscarriage. I’ve had another two since.’ She didn’t know why she was spilling her guts to this man—it had to be the drink—but couldn’t help herself. ‘Third time I lost the baby at eighteen weeks. She was a little girl.’

  Josie spared him the gory details of her uterus being scraped clean but remembered all too clearly how painful and humiliating the experience had been. Her limbs, her heart, every bone in her body grew heavy as her memories plunged her back into despair.

  ‘Fuck.’ He let out a long, slow puff. ‘No wonder you’re feeling like you do. That’s just shit. I’m sorry you had to go through that.’

  She turned her head to look at him properly. This slightly rough face was the last place she’d expected to find sympathy and understanding but she thought maybe she saw the glint of a tear in his eye. Since her miscarriages—the last one only two months ago, here in Sydney—she’d heard many things from well-meaning friends, colleagues and even family, most of which had made her want to scratch their eyes out.

  It was God’s will. Well, if that was the case, God could go fuck himself.

  It was obviously for the best. In whose universe?

  The baby is in a better place now. How could there be a better place than in her arms?

  At least you know you can get pregnant …

  None of her nearest and dearest had a clue what to say, but somehow this unlikely stranger knew exactly the right words. Not to make her feel better but to give validation to her emotions.