Tiddas

by Anita Heiss

  ‘Richard’s furious with me.’ Nadine was crying into a chai latte. ‘I need help but I don’t want to go to AA, I just don’t.’

  ‘You need something more than yoga and reading books, Nadine, you’ve got a real problem.’ Xanthe was trying to contain her own disappointment in her friend as she reached across the kitchen table and touched Nadine’s hand.

  ‘I know.’ Nadine wiped her tears. ‘What about hypnotherapy?’ she asked, hoping for an easy way out. She handed Xanthe some brochures. ‘I’ll buy these CDs and listen to them at home. Apparently they can help to train your mind away from drinking.’

  Xanthe refused to look at the glossy brochures Nadine had passed her. ‘I don’t know, Nadine, I think they might be a waste of money, and I know you’ve got plenty, but if it’s not going to help you permanently, then I think it will just be a waste of time too.’

  Nadine was disappointed in her tidda’s lack of enthusiasm and so she tried another angle. She was desperate to find a way to make everyone happy without having to go to AA.

  ‘I’ve been reading about people who used acupuncture to curb their desire to drink. I’m not been a big fan of natural medicine, but I’m willing to give it a try.’

  ‘Well, I have heard of acupuncture helping . . .’ Xanthe paused before she used the word alcoholics. ‘. . . drinkers, to help with resisting cravings and assisting relaxation. So I guess it can’t hurt.’

  Nadine knew what Xanthe was thinking. What everyone else in her life was thinking. ‘You want me to go to AA too, don’t you?’ She was convinced they all wanted to label her, that they all thought the only way to treat her problem was group meetings with other alcoholics.

  Xanthe didn’t answer.

  ‘The thing is, I’m not like those other people, Xanthe. I just sit here and keep to myself.’

  ‘What makes you think alcoholics aren’t like that too?’ Xanthe asked, gearing up to deliver a dose of tough love. ‘Alcoholics are like you; they go to work, they have kids, they do everything other people do. They also abuse the people they love, they forget important things, they have damaged livers and kidneys.’

  Nadine found Xanthe’s words hard to listen to.

  ‘They also make a million excuses, just like you do too. Nadine, you’re forty, you need to wake up to yourself because if you don’t you may not see fifty.’

  ‘Now you’re just exaggerating,’ Nadine scoffed.

  ‘Really?’ Xanthe was annoyed. She was trying to help a friend who had asked for help only to be dismissed. ‘Try some of these stats on for size then.’ She pulled out her Filofax where she’d made some notes. ‘According to the World Health Organisation, the harmful use of alcohol results in 2.5 million deaths each year, and 320,000 young people between the age of fifteen and twenty-nine die from alcohol-related causes, nine per cent of all deaths in that age group.’

  ‘Do you think I’m an alcoholic?’ Nadine asked, the venom in her voice evident. ‘Is that what you think? Is that what you’re trying to tell me with your statistics? I’m not in one of your training courses, you know.’

  Xanthe contained the rage she could feel building and counted quietly backwards from ten before she spoke.

  ‘Do you think you’re an alcoholic, Nadine?’ Xanthe finally threw the question back.

  ‘I don’t know.’ Nadine started to cry again.

  Xanthe put her hand on her friend’s again, trying to soothe her. ‘Listen, no-one is judging you, we all want to help. But you need to be honest with yourself.’

  Nadine sniffled. ‘I don’t mean to drink as much as I do, I just lose track sometimes. Most of the time, actually.’ This was her first real confession.

  ‘Do you forget much when you drink?’ Xanthe asked, trying to knock off some classic symptoms of alcoholism.

  ‘Yes, often, and I hate it.’ Her second confession.

  ‘Nadine, if you want to control your drinking, and you’re finding it hard or impossible, which I’m sorry to say that’s what it sounds like, then I think that probably defines alcoholism.’ She squeezed Nadine’s hand. ‘And, my dear friend, I really think you should at least try an AA meeting, for support and guidance.’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Nadine shook her head.

  Xanthe spoke softly, and trod carefully, hoping to at least get Nadine to agree. ‘There are meetings in Brookfield on Friday nights at the Anglican Church Hall.’

  ‘Bloody hell, there’s no way I could go there. Could you imagine? The whole place would be talking. What about Brit and Cam? No, not there.’

  For Xanthe it didn’t go unnoticed that the only time Nadine seemed concerned about her children in relation to her drinking, was when she was trying to get sober. But she said nothing, tried to remain supportive.

  ‘I thought you’d say that, so I checked and there’s meetings in Indooroopilly and Taringa, which are far enough away for you not to know anyone.’

  ‘Well, as long as they haven’t read one of my books!’ Nadine said sarcastically.

  Xanthe shook her head at how difficult her friend was being and wondered if Nadine really did want to get better. ‘I wasn’t going to mention this to you because it’s probably the option you’ll take, but there is also an online AA meeting facility.’

  ‘That I could do,’ Nadine said, opening up her laptop.

  17

  A NEW VIXEN

  Christmas arrived too quickly for each of the tiddas. Veronica finished unpacking boxes in her Spring Hill apartment three days before Santa was due to arrive, but just in time to erect a small tree. She smiled at the glittering purple, gold and red baubles, feeling completely content for the first time since Alex left her.

  She looked at the freshly painted white walls she was still to adorn with artwork, including her own. She admired the polished floorboards and her new streamlined, less cluttered life. She nodded her approval to herself, full of enthusiasm about ending one cycle of her life and starting the new year ahead with a vastly improved sense of self.

  She straightened the red cushions on her new black leather lounge and placed some nuts and olives on the coffee table she’d had delivered the day before. Veronica may have downsized and decluttered but she still maintained her high-end quality and style. She’d furnished her new compact home by considering some elements of Feng Shui as well, and the Yasuhiro Shito-designed table, the salesperson had assured her, exuded a Zen-like feel with its smooth edges and minimalist appearance. It was a done deal.

  She checked everything was ready – including the mockails she’d planned in support of Nadine – and was rearranging the gifts under the tree one more time when the doorbell rang.

  ‘You’re my first real visitor, Nadine!’ Veronica was as excited as a schoolgirl with friends coming for a sleepover. And her excitement was infectious.

  ‘This is your new life, Vee,’ Nadine bubbled. ‘And it’s not too shabby at all, is it?’

  They walked down the hallway leading into the living area. Nadine stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the city. ‘No, not shabby at all.’

  The doorbell rang again. Xanthe stood outside the sixth-floor apartment door with Izzy and baby Bila, loaded up with nappies, baby wipes, bibs, dummies and every other item that could possibly be designed and marketed to a new mother. Izzy’s West End home had been turned into its own baby centre, and there were knitted booties from one end of the flat to the other. But it was stifling in Brisbane, and little Bila was mostly naked save for her nappy. Izzy couldn’t wait until Bila grew a bit more so she could put her in the bright pink polka-dotted swim nappies; they were the cutest things her Godmother Xanthe had given her.

  ‘Hello!’ Veronica greeted them cheerily, looking into the pram at the newest member of the book club.

  ‘No-one talks to me anymore,’ Izzy joked. ‘They go straight for the kid.’

  ‘And helloooo to you too!’ Veronica hugged both women and showed them through to the balcony, where Nadine was wilting in the humidity.

  ‘Hel
lo, beautiful,’ Nadine said as Izzy pushed the pram through the open screen doors.

  ‘Thanks,’ Izzy joked.

  ‘Oh, and hello to you too, Iz,’ Nadine laughed.

  Izzy raised her eyes in a smile as if to say, I told you so!

  When Ellen finally arrived, after a very depressing service – thankfully the last she had to do before Christmas, the women sat down to a lunch of seafood and salads, passing baby Bila around like they were playing pass-the-parcel.

  ‘Bila is a lovely name,’ Veronica said. ‘Very close to Bella.’

  Asher and Izzy had argued over names – he wanted to name her after a form of bush tucker, which Izzy thought would only cause her grief with teenage boys saying, ‘I want to eat you!’ They argued so endlessly, their daughter spent the first ten days of her life being called simply ‘Bub’. They finally settled on Bila late one night when they were sifting through language lists from their hometowns, looking for a name that had meaning.

  ‘Bila is a Wiradjuri word for river,’ Izzy explained to her tiddas as she put the baby on her breast. ‘We both have connection to rivers – me, the Cudgegong of course, and here in Brisbane, and the Condamine for Asher up in Toowoomba.’

  ‘I like it,’ Ellen said, ‘it makes sense.’

  ‘And,’ Izzy said, ‘it sounds soppy, but Asher reckons it represents our love that flows like a river, and especially our love for you.’ She kissed Bila on the top of her the head while the women gushed in unison.

  Veronica’s new sense of calm did not go unnoticed by her friends that day as she played hostess. She was more relaxed than any of them could remember. As she handed them each a flat, square gift, none of them could imagine what it was. Too heavy to be a CD. They were all intrigued.

  ‘I’m renting a tiny studio in Woolloongabba where I can do my homework,’ Veronica smiled, ‘and I needed a proper space to be creative.’ She swapped Izzy’s gift for baby Bila as she continued. ‘And these are my first efforts, before uni actually begins. I hope you like them.’

  Each woman ripped away the red and gold paper and then the bubble wrap. Each white tile had a different design painted on it in black.

  ‘What does it mean?’ Ellen asked, not wanting to sound ignorant, but unsure of the significance of the design. Nadine, Izzy and Xanthe looked on with similar expressions of uncertainty on their faces.

  Veronica laughed. ‘It’s okay; you’re not supposed to know. They’re my own designs. I researched a whole lot of symbols for friendship around the world; Chinese lettering, Celtic designs, even some international Indigenous symbols. And then I sat down and thought about what our friendships meant to me, sketched a few designs of my own and painted them on these tiles. That’s all.’

  ‘That’s all?’ Nadine declared. ‘You are amazing!’

  Bila cooed and the women all laughed.

  A cock crowed, waking Izzy. Asher was already up with Bila, talking to her as if she were a five-year-old and understood that Santa had been. He was sitting on the lounge with the TV on low, chatting to his daughter about the menu for Christmas lunch. Izzy stood in the doorway of their bedroom and watched, finding it hard to believe she had become a mother and full-time partner without any plan to do either. Her breasts were leaking milk as fast as her eyes shed tears of joy. This would be her best Christmas Day ever. Her first with her own family and, as a bonus, the meal Asher had planned sounded fantastic. The fact her fortieth birthday was only two days away didn’t even concern her. All that mattered to Izzy was that she was about to celebrate her first Christmas with her man and her baby girl.

  In Kangaroo Point, Ellen woke up for the first time on Christmas morning with a man next to her. It had taken until the age of forty for her to realise the difference it made sharing important holidays with someone you loved. She snuggled into Craig’s back and kissed the nape of his neck. He grabbed her hands and pulled her arms around him. They lay half-awake for some time before deciding to go for a run, a routine they had fallen into and enjoyed. Making love in the shower often followed, so their final sprint home was for a reason. The pair would spend the day with Craig’s family down on the Gold Coast. It was the first Christmas Ellen didn’t feel homesick.

  Veronica was up early, stuffing and cooking a turkey, roasting vegetables, whipping cream for the trifle, and preparing the table for her three sons and the likelihood of a mate or new girlfriend popping in. John had crashed at her place the night before, conscious his mother would be waking up alone otherwise. Unlike the artworks she’d given the girls, Veronica had bought the boys essentials for their own homes, and included gift cards for music and clothes in their presents as well. She felt so happy with herself, she even sent a Christmas text to Alex in between basting.

  Paper flew faster than planes in Upper Brookfield where Richard and Nadine hadn’t tamed their shopping as successfully as Nadine had her drinking in recent weeks. She’d been to three group AA meetings and felt more empowered each time, fearing less and less that people were judging her. The severed bond between her and Richard had been mended. He was starting to trust her again, and that made her feel happier too. Brittany and Cameron managed to acquire more presents than any child anywhere needed. But after opening each gift – a book, an iTunes card, a blinged flash drive, a digital camera, a remote control helicopter, a paintball kit – the childen genuinely thanked their parents. There was being outrageously spoiled, but there was also being outwardly and sincerely appreciative. Nadine and Richard sat happily, coffee mugs in hand, while they watched their children squeal with delight and surprise. The day would be just theirs until the afternoon when they would drive into West End to see Izzy, Asher and Bila.

  Birds chirped happily in Paddington as Xanthe and Spencer made love, with one of many versions of ‘White Christmas’ coming from the radio. They both giggled between thrusts; the top temp for the day was going to be in the mid-thirties and humidity near saturation point. The pair were both relaxed and excited about their trip to New Caledonia, now less than twenty-four hours away, and appreciated the gifts of beach towels and swimwear they’d bought for each other. This year there were no surprises, but neither of them cared. All Spencer wanted to do was lie under a palm tree during the day and eat inspiring French cuisine by night. As far as touristy activities went, Xanthe was only interested in visiting the Jean-Marie Tjibaou Centre, which celebrated Kanak culture. She was so excited about celebrating her fortieth birthday in the Pacific, she’d even forgotten to pack a pregnancy test.

  EPILOGUE

  March was as hot and sticky as December and everyone felt it. Thankfully Jugglers Art Space in The Valley provided a cool reprieve when the tiddas arrived for the opening of the gallery’s latest exhibition. The only heat that night came from the emerging artists brimming with creative energy. Veronica was one of them, and she was bubbling with nerves. To everyone’s surprise, mostly her own, her submission to be part of the show was accepted before she’d started the semester. One of her dreams was coming true so quickly her head was spinning with disbelief and excitement. The private sketchings of twenty years had finally paid off.

  Among the crowd gathered were her three sons, each with girlfriend in tow and an apparent blank cheque from their father to buy something. Alex had remained the absent but generous father but Veronica didn’t think any more than a few seconds about it. She was more preoccupied with the fella who had framed her inks on paper; he was a contact of Ellen’s who turned out to be interested not only in her artwork but also her ‘good looks’. Veronica had agreed to have a drink with him sometime after the exhibition, and she was as nervous about the pending ‘date’ as she was about her first opening night.

  Izzy arrived and appeared rushed, annoyed with Asher after a fight back at home; he couldn’t understand why she had to be there for Veronica when Bila was due for a feed. He accused her of caring more about her tiddas than her daughter and him, their family. Izzy didn’t have time to explain the meaning of sistahood to him, and although
she wasn’t back at work yet she had organised a crew to cover the event, not only to support the local artists and her tidda in particular, but also the organisation. She would only be gone an hour, she promised Asher, and Bila would be sleeping the whole time. She was feeling a new level of pressure at home that she hadn’t planned on, but she’d deal with it when she got back to West End.

  Xanthe and Spencer arrived holding hands, the perpetual teenage romantics. Since falling pregnant in New Caledonia the pair had been virtually inseparable as they prepared for parenthood. Xanthe had given new meaning to the term ‘expectant mother’ and no-one was happier for her than her tiddas. Xanthe and Spencer stayed for the official side of things then left quietly as Xanthe felt unwell and just wanted to go home and lie down.

  As the speeches began, Ellen raced in, panting. She’d had a service at 4 p.m. at Tweed Heads and by the time she got away and back up the highway she had to head straight to the event. She stood with Nadine who was sober and admiring the artwork of all exhibitors with a new, clearer eye. She had already placed a few red dots next to works she liked and, unlike the arguing pair of old, she and Ellen spent most of the evening together – except when Ellen took the opportunity to shamelessly flirt with a young art student who had clearly taken a shine to her.

  The next day Cam and Brit had never been more excited about going to school. They were up and dressed without any prompting at all. It was ‘come as your favourite character’ and their mother was going to be the guest speaker on books and writing at the school assembly. Nadine had never known what impact a parent going to school events had on kids, her kids. Their enthusiasm quickly infected her and she felt excited with them, for them. But she was also incredibly nervous. She’d not done anything at school for years and she was still battling with speaking in public sober. But Richard was ever the staunch supporter.