by Anita Heiss
‘As if she needs to worry about saving,’ Ellen whispered to Xanthe.
‘Let her go. She needs to do something with that credit card now she’s not getting cases of wine delivered to Brookfield.’
The woman handing over the membership form said with a smile, ‘Aren’t you the author, Nadine – ?’
Nadine didn’t let her finish before she responded with ‘Yes, yes I am.’ Nadine couldn’t feign humility. Sober, she didn’t mind being celebrity-spotted on occasion, even if she preferred to be left alone back home. She was less annoyed of late also by those wanting autographs and asking about certain characters and storylines. It seemed that sober equalled more tolerant.
‘I’ll grab a table,’ Xanthe said, heading towards the front of the hall.
‘I’ll get in the queue for dinner,’ Ellen said, heading to her right and joining the other locals trying to decide on one of the three options on the board.
Xanthe grabbed three RESERVED signs from the table and went to find some seats to hold until they’d eaten and the movie started.
Ellen stayed with Nadine even though she was in the safety of the hall.
‘Oh,’ Nadine said, as she turned towards the food counter.
‘Oh,’ Ellen echoed, as she looked at the wine bottles lined up on the bistro counter. Seven dollars a glass or twenty for the bottle.
‘Come on, you’ll be right, we’ll get extra dessert to compensate.’
Nadine didn’t say anything. She focused on the list of options for dinner: veal, chicken and a mushroom turnover.
‘I’ll have the vegie option please, Ellen,’ she said, offering her a fifty-dollar note.
While they ate dinner the women dissected their surroundings: the ageing demographics, the old hall, the bargain meal, the quality of the food, what the film might be like. Every few minutes Ellen would check her phone to see if Craig had called or texted; nothing. She had mixed feelings; she didn’t want to speak to him but she wanted to know he missed her.
They had gone to see Mozart’s Sister but Love Crimes was being shown instead. No-one cared. It was a novelty to be in a community hall run by volunteers and they were even quite taken by the wooden seats. None of them had seen anything like it before.
‘Slightly different to going to the movies at The Barracks,’ Xanthe smiled, as she put a forkful of local vegies in her mouth.
‘I should start something like this in Brookfield,’ Nadine said. ‘Much better than just happy hour, don’t you think?’ She knew she would benefit from a new project; she needed to keep busy, focused on anything other than the next drink.
‘Anyone for some homemade slice?’ Xanthe offered.
‘God, I love this. It even makes me want to bake! I can’t remember the last time I made a cake for the kids.’ Nadine was serious; she really couldn’t remember any baking she’d done at Brookfield.
‘Did anyone get the quillow out of the boot?’ Xanthe asked.
‘The what?’ Ellen shook her head, perplexed.
‘The quillow. It’s a quilt that can turn into a pillow.’
Ellen nearly fell off her chair laughing. ‘Sounds ugly!’
‘It’s practical,’ Xanthe said defensively, knowing it was in fact dead ugly.
‘Where did you buy it?’ Nadine had no intention of getting one, but feigned interest.
‘I didn’t. Spencer’s mum gave it to me. One of those gifts that tells you you’re not the one she wanted her son to marry.’
‘What?’ Ellen didn’t know what she was talking about.
‘At Christmas time, we all received gifts in the post. The other daughter-in-laws got gorgeous quilts in their favourite colours. I got this quillow thing. But Spencer loves it. He packed it for me to bring up here.’
On the Sunday morning the tiddas toured the centre of Maleny again. They roamed the markets in the RSL, picking up and putting down old LP records, deciding against the cards and paper made from elephant poo. They all bought some Fair Trade coffee.
They roamed through the little town’s galleries, checking out the work of local artists. Veronica could almost see her own work hanging in a gallery one day. They had breakfast at the UpFront Club, and watched the locals going about a normal day.
‘Jesus, another cooperative! This mob is more community minded than Blackfellas,’ Ellen said. ‘Oh my God, you should see their IGA! It shits on anything near me.’ She was carrying two bags. ‘I’ve got locally produced honey, mango, apple and pumpkin chutney, and sweet chilli and ginger sauce. I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to cook, but this place is unreal.’
Nadine grabbed every brochure possible on cooking classes, the local dairies, retreats and real estate. She grabbed a copy of the Co-op News as she walked into the Maple Street Co-op; she picked up a basket and proceeded to fill it with nettle tea, spirulina and wheatgrass.
‘Time for a spring clean, eh?’ Xanthe peered into the basket, smiling.
‘Way past time, tidda,’ Nadine said. ‘I’m considering becoming a sproutarian.’
‘A what?’ Even Xanthe hadn’t heard of that one.
‘Someone who eats predominantly sprouts. Or maybe a fruitarian.’ Nadine held a sweet smelling mango in her hands.
‘Nadine, you don’t have to go from one extreme to another; you just need to not drink booze.’
‘I can’t just do that. It’s not me. I need to make dramatic changes, that’s who I am. That’s why I am an artist, a writer.’
16
A FALL FROM GRACE
‘It’s happening!’ Izzy screamed from the bathroom, her words echoing along the concrete landing so that all the neighbours could hear. Asher came flying in from the balcony, where he’d been tending to the herb garden he was growing in pots.
‘Asher!’ she screamed more loudly.
‘I’m here,’ he said, sounding worried for the first time since she’d told him she was pregnant.
Izzy stood in a small puddle. ‘I heard a pop and then this,’ she said, flustered, looking at the ground and breathing heavily.
‘It’s okay,’ he said, handing her a towel. ‘Let’s just get you tidied up a little and we’ll be on our way.’
Izzy couldn’t believe how calm Asher was. He’d made her pack her bag weeks before, and had mapped out the route to the hospital exactly; 3.2 kilometres, door to door.
Within twenty minutes they were there, Asher doing the paperwork and Izzy texting the girls, Richard and her brothers in Mudgee. Her mother hadn’t mastered the iPhone the siblings had kicked in for yet, so she relied on verbal messages to be passed on.
This is really happening, Izzy thought to herself, mentally going back over the past few months and suddenly hit by the realisation that her life was about to change forever. She tried not to think of the nightmare stories she’d read online or about what other women had told her about labour. Then she felt her first contraction; it was like the most severe period pain she’d ever had. And then it continued, for nine hours, Asher by her side the entire time, and the doctors and nurses checking on her constantly.
‘What a great choice,’ Veronica said, never having been to Garuva before. ‘This is not the Valley I think of, even if we are sitting on cushions.’
‘It’s kind of good Izzy isn’t here, there’s no way she would be able to sit on the floor,’ Ellen said.
‘Any word from Asher yet?’ Nadine asked.
They all checked their phones. Nothing.
‘This is très chic,’ Xanthe said, having started French lessons in preparation for her upcoming trip to New Caledonia. She and Spencer had decided they both needed a proper break; somewhere tropical, somewhere peaceful, somewhere romantic.
‘Can we sit on a high stool at one of the barrels while we wait, please?’ Veronica asked gingerly. ‘Not to be a party pooper but I’ve got a tight skirt on.’ One result of her makeover was a black, high-waisted skirt and purple silk top. She looked steaming hot in the outfit, but it was not comfortable enough to sit in cross
ed-legged on the floor, and certainly not in public. At least behind the curtains of their dining table she’d be able to retain some sense of modesty.
‘Cocktails?’ Ellen asked.
‘Or mocktails?’ Xanthe added, thinking of Nadine.
Nadine hesitated. ‘You can all have cocktails. I don’t care who drinks as long as it’s not me.’
There was a tone of frustration in her voice which prompted Xanthe to respond cheerily. ‘I plan on eating a lot tonight, so I can do without the alcohol and make up for the calories with food!’
As the women settled at the bar and waited to be seated, a group of younger women in short, strapless dresses and four-inch heels came in. One wore a short tulle veil.
‘Oh God, they still have hen’s nights in the city?’ Nadine rolled her eyes. ‘I thought they stopped years ago.’
‘Not like your hen’s night in Mudgee, eh tidda,’ Ellen said.
‘Please don’t remind me what happened. Richard still brings up the fact that the cops dropped me home wearing red fluffy handcuffs. Who’s bloody idea was that?’
‘I’m going to tell her not to do it,’ Veronica said, pretending to walk over to the bride-to-be.
Xanthe pulled her friend back gently. ‘You can’t do that.’
‘That’s right. She has to learn the hard way, like the rest of us!’ Nadine joked.
A thin waitress in tight pants and strappy black top came to escort the women to their table. The harem-like room was surrounded by a thick organza curtain on all sides.
‘Shit!’ Veronica said, trying a range of positions in her tight skirt. ‘I really wasn’t meant to wear clothes like this.’
‘Don’t be silly, just hoik it up. No-one can see,’ Ellen encouraged her friend.
And so Vee did, feeling momentarily like mutton dressed as lamb.
As they pored over the menu each declared their chosen dish. ‘I’ll have the Turkish octopus,’ Xanthe got in first.
‘If everyone’s happy, I’ll take the barbecued fish,’ Veronica said.
‘I can’t pronounce it but I like the sound of that beef dish,’ Ellen said, pointing to a name that none of them could say.
Nadine was silent. She felt agitated; she desperately wanted a cocktail or a glass of wine or even a shot of something in a small glass. She could hear other guests nearby having a great time, and she wanted that fun feeling too. She missed it. She needed it. She excused herself, saying she was going to the bathroom, and headed straight for the bar where they started the night. She ordered a vodka tonic, knowing it was quicker to make than a cocktail and wouldn’t be detected on her breath.
‘Make it a double,’ she instructed the barman.
‘Everything all right?’ Xanthe asked when Nadine sat back down, looking flushed.
‘Of course,’ she said, paranoid that they could tell what she’d done. ‘I just called Richard to check everything was okay at home.’
And that was the first of the lies she’d need to keep telling in order to drink for the rest of the evening.
Ellen’s phone vibrated and she saw Craig’s name flash on the screeen. Her heart skipped a beat, then pounded faster and harder. She hadn’t heard from him for two months. She didn’t expect to hear from him again. She didn’t want to. She didn’t answer it, let it go to voicemail. But when she got home she listened to the message seventeen times and memorised the words: Hello Ellen, it’s Craig. Happy birthday. I miss you and wondered if you wanted to go out for dinner, just to talk.
At 9 p.m. Nadine texted Richard and said Veronica would drive her home, and that he should go to bed. At 10.30 p.m. she told the girls that Richard was out the front waiting for her. She left alone and caught a cab while the other tiddas were finishing their desserts. When she arrived home Nadine checked that Richard was asleep and then went to the cellar. It had been eight weeks since she’d been down there. She didn’t concern herself with the wine she chose; they all were quality. She just wanted to get the cork out, pour liquid into a glass and feel the taste of cab sav or merlot or pinot or anything on her tongue. She finished the bottle quickly and opened another. She felt her sight go blurry. The guilt was pumping through her. A moment later she passed out.
As the sun rose, Richard realised Nadine wasn’t beside him. He jumped out of bed. From the doorway of the kitchen he could see his wife wrapped in a doona and crashed out in the double hammock.
‘Nads!’ Richard was seething with anger, and hurting with disappointment. An empty bottle lay on the veranda and in her sleep Nadine was dribbling into a cushion. He shook his head, grateful that the kids were still asleep.
‘You’ve got a beautiful, healthy baby girl, with a lot of hair,’ the doctor congratulated Izzy and Asher.
Asher wiped the tears from his eyes, kissed Izzy on her dry mouth and sat down to take hold of the little bundle he had helped create. He gazed at his tiny, tightly wrapped daughter and immediately fell in love.
‘This is my best dish ever,’ he said softly.
Izzy was exhausted, but as she looked at Asher her feelings for him were as strong as the love she now felt for her baby girl. Asher sat on the edge of the bed so they could both see and touch her.
‘Our little Murri miracle,’ Asher whispered.
‘Koori miracle,’ Izzy whispered back, smiling.
Within hours flowers were being delivered to the room, and Asher’s text message to family and friends had been sent far and wide. ‘News spreads like wildfire on the Murri grapevine,’ he said, looking at the dozens of messages waiting to be read and listened to on the phone.
That night Richard visited with Brittany and Cameron. The two cousins were besotted with the newest member of the family and arrived armed with enough stuffed toys to satisfy most of the maternity ward. They took turns at holding the yet-to-be-named baby and made noises about wishing they had a baby brother or sister.
‘Where’s Aunty Nadine?’ Izzy asked.
Richard smiled. He looked at the kids. He had no choice but to lie. ‘She’s got a sore throat and didn’t think it was a good idea to be near the baby.’ He hated the dishonesty and ached with disappointment about Nadine’s fall from grace, but luckily Izzy took what he said at face value.
Ellen and Veronica visited the next morning, both cooing, although neither wanted babies in their own home unless as passing visitors. Xanthe arrived shortly after with a bright purple elephant that was immediately the most popular item in the room.
‘Hiiii,’ she said, poking her head round the door of the private room. ‘How’s the new mum doing?’
Izzy was grateful to see her, knowing it would have been difficult for Xanthe to face someone else living her dream. To Xanthe’s surprise, however, she felt at peace, joyful for her tidda, knowing the magic of motherhood her bestie would now be experiencing.
‘This is Aunty Xanthe,’ Izzy told her daughter. ‘Would you like to hold her?’ she asked Xanthe.
Xanthe could feel the lump forming in her throat. ‘Yes.’ It was all she could manage before sitting down on the chair next to the bed and putting a pillow under her left arm for support. She took the precious bundle carefully, not taking her eyes off her once, and held her close, as if she were her own.
‘She’s perfect, Izzy, just perfect,’ Xanthe said, as a single tear fell.
Ellen sat in the Restaurant Venice, perched high on the bend of the Brisbane River and looking across to the Story Bridge. She was sick with nerves and trying to calm the butterflies doing somersaults in her belly. She couldn’t recall the last date she’d been on. She couldn’t remember the last man she’d allowed to tug at her heartstrings. She didn’t want to expect too much from dinner with Craig, but she couldn’t help herself. It had been four days since his call, and she’d barely slept with excitement and anxiety. Never had she been so grateful for having a lot of deaths and funerals to deal with, but she realised how awful it was to be glad that other people’s grief had kept her preoccupied and taken her mind off her own emotiona
l turmoil.
The sun was setting, the orange-pink glow providing a backdrop of light against the frame of green metal struts. Lights were on at the Jazz Club at Kangaroo Point and the city ferry was doing its regular run from one side of the river to the other. She watched people in sports gear powering along the boardwalk below, and didn’t notice when Craig finally walked in.
Having not seen each other for months, he did a double take when he first saw the woman he now realised he cared for. Ellen looked so different. Her hair had grown; it looked softer, more feminine and was a golden brown, the hairdresser having dyed it back to what she remembered was Ellen’s natural colour. Ellen had dark lipstick on that exactly matched the blood red, figure-hugging dress she’d bought especially for what was officially her ‘first date’ with Craig.
‘You look absolutely gorgeous,’ Craig said before he even sat down.
Ellen melted at his words but said nothing.
‘Interesting choice,’ Craig said, looking around the restaurant. ‘It’s a faux Edwardian look. Kind of like Mardi Gras meets Carnivalé.’
Ellen was surprised that he was even interested in the style of the place, let alone knew anything about its design. ‘How do you know that?’
‘I’m a builder, I know a little about architecture.’
Ellen looked surprised.
‘What? You think I just lay bricks and mix cement all day?’ He sounded a little defensive. ‘I hear people talk about stuff all the time.’ He pointed to the ceiling. ‘The grapes are a symbol of Bacchus, the god of wine. So I reckon they’d say the style here is Bacchanalian. But I could be wrong.’
Ellen was impressed. She couldn’t believe she’d missed this about Craig, but she just smiled.
Craig settled into his seat and looked across at her. ‘I’ve missed you.’
‘I’ve missed you, too,’ she said, feeling her hands getting sweaty.
The next two hours were a blur of laughter, reminiscing and planning. Craig talked about all the construction going on around the city, and some of the projects he was working on. Ellen thought about her Aunty Molly and Uncle Ron and wondered if this kind of getting-to-know-each-other was the foundation she needed to have a lasting relationship and love like theirs. She and Craig left the restaurant holding hands and with plans in place for the weeks ahead; that in itself, Ellen thought, was a major milestone in her adult life.