Crazy, Busy, Guilty

by Lauren Sams

  Neil smirked. ‘Yeah. Lee never told you that? It’s part of the reason she left. She was so over Meredith.’

  ‘What? I thought . . . what about John’s job?’

  ‘Oh yeah, well, there was that, too. But I doubt Lee would have been in such a hurry to go if it hadn’t been for Meredith. You know she told Lee she was going to get a column in the Big Paper?’ He shook his head as if to say, ‘Can you believe it?’ I felt, quite suddenly, woozy. I gulped down the rest of my wine.

  Neil smiled at me from across the table and refilled my glass. ‘I guess you need to go home, huh?’

  ‘Um . . .’ Ellie had come to my rescue and was babysitting Pip. I glanced at my phone. There were a few selfies from Meredith, posing, alternately, with bottles of wine and Anna Cantwell-Hart. It was 10.30. ‘Yeah. I should go. After this one.’

  I texted Ellie. Heading home soon. She pinged back, No worries, take your time. Watching Suits. Harvey =

  ‘OK.’

  Half an hour and a finished bottle of wine later, we left the pub and Neil stuck his arm out to hail me a taxi. When the cab pulled over and turned its light on, I made a lightning fast decision and pulled Neil towards me. He smiled, surprised, and leaned in to kiss me. Then we got in the cab.

  Chapter 16

  I rolled over and stifled a scream. There’s a man in my bed. SHIT. There is a man in my bed. It took a second to remember that I knew the man in my bed. I had slept with the man in my bed. Wait. The man in my bed worked for me. Shit shit shit.

  It all came back, albeit in pieces. Ellie’s surprised, cheekily delighted face as I opened the door, revealing Neil, who was coming in for a late-night ‘cup of tea’. Looking in on Pip to check she was OK and quietly shutting the door. Feeling the momentary trepidation of taking off my clothes being replaced by the straight-up need to get laid. And then getting laid.

  Shit shit shit.

  ‘Good morning,’ Neil said, as Pip began to cry in her room. I looked at Neil, who did not seem at all uncomfortable that we were both naked and my child – my eleven-month-old child – was in the next room, ready for breakfast.

  ‘Morning!’ I said, trying to sound sunny and cheerful and light and not at all weirded out. ‘Ah . . . give me a minute.’

  I shot across the room to grab a robe and wrapped it around me. I opened the door to Pip’s room to find her standing up in the cot.

  ‘Pip!’ I said. ‘You’re standing up! Good girl!’ I clapped my hands together, then stopped myself. God, I looked just like Meredith. Don’t drink the Kool-Aid, George. I was already talking like Meredith, I didn’t need to adopt her mannerisms, too.

  From the cot, Pip beamed, clearly proud of herself. I picked her up and held her close. ‘Good girl,’ I whispered. ‘Good girl.’ Then it hit me – she had slept through the night! Again! Oh my god! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! After that one night in Melbourne when Ellie had put Pip to bed, I’d wrongly assumed that my child had turned a corner. Not so. This was the first time she’d slept through since. I couldn’t believe it. Here she was, not even a year old and already a champion wingwoman.

  We sat down in the armchair in Pip’s room (I had finally convinced myself to move her stuff into Nina’s old room) and I started to feed her.

  Neil walked in and his Mouth agog, he stared at me – boobs out, child at nip.

  ‘Oh shit,’ he said. ‘Sorry.’

  I covered up as much as I could, wondering exactly what the point was – he’d seen the whole enchilada – and taco – last night.

  ‘Uh, it’s OK,’ I said. ‘Just give me a minute, alright?’

  He nodded, looking embarrassed. ‘Yeah, sorry. Uh . . . should I go get some coffees?’

  I nodded, smiling.

  God. What had I done? Meredith had been clear as vodka: do not date Neil. And what had I done? I had dated Neil. I had dated Neil twice in one night. Oh boy.

  Pip broke her feed and looked up at me, smiling. I let myself relax. I had dated Neil. Twice. In one night.

  Oh boy indeed.

  *

  Are you going to Nina’s mum’s memorial? came the text from Ellie.

  Yep, I replied.

  I pulled Pip into her polka-dot romper and dabbed her face with sunscreen.

  ‘Ready, Miss Pip? Let’s go.’

  I didn’t know if it was the sex or the fact that autumn was here, bringing its cool, sunny mornings and giant golden leaves, but I was definitely feeling more energetic, hangover notwithstanding. It was a bright, clear day; it was time to head to the park.

  My phone lit up. What are you going to wear? Black? I stared down at the phone. Only Ellie would have the time and mental capacity to plan an outfit for a memorial that was still two weeks away.

  Don’t know. Maybe.

  A reply came back in seconds.

  Does Pip have a black dress?

  Just wondering what to put

  Lucas in. Simon can wear a suit

  but Lucas’s tux from Hayley’s

  wedding is too small now

  and also tux = too formal?

  I rolled my eyes.

  Lucas is a kid, and the memorial

  is at the beach. Let him wear

  shorts. Nina won’t care, the

  point is just to be there.

  I piled the necessities into my bag: wipes, a water bottle, a snack (one for Pip, one for me), extra sunscreen, nappies. I was finally getting the hang of this. It had only taken eleven months. Pip gurgled at me and I gurgled back. She was so close to talking now – really talking, not just jumbles of sounds. I wondered what her first word would be.

  We walked into the sunshine and down the street. I felt . . . well, I felt like a woman who had recently had three very good orgasms. It was the sort of feeling you got after being in the ocean when you lived in the city – renewed, fresh, sexy. It felt amazing.

  ‘George!’ I heard a voice from down the street. ‘George!’

  I turned to see who it was. Harriet!

  ‘Hi!’ I waved her over. ‘We’re off to the park.’

  Harriet nodded, smiling. ‘Us, too!’ I slowed down so she could catch up.

  Harriet’s texts had become less frequent, but I didn’t blame her; I’d rarely replied. I would see the message, get busy with something at work, forget the message was there and then by the time I did remember, usually days later, it seemed rude to reply so late. Luckily, Harriet didn’t seem to be holding it against me.

  By the time we got to the park, it was teeming with toddlers and babies and hovering parents and the ones who, like Harriet and I, preferred to sit on the sidelines and drink our coffees as the babies crawled in the dirt, content to play with mud instead of the state-of-the-art play equipment that had recently been installed in response to complaints about the lone swing and slide, which had been built when O. J. was still just a football player.

  So as Pip and Charlie sat in literal squalor and fed each other chunks of (immunity-building, I hoped) wet dirt, Harriet and I hung by the fence, the motherhood equivalent of back-seat toughies, and caught up. Obviously, I immediately told her about Neil.

  ‘Ahhhhhh! I am so jealous,’ she said, hands to her face, doing her best Home Alone pose.

  I laughed. ‘It was pretty good.’

  She screwed up her face, trying to get the whole picture. ‘So you just did it, with Pip in the next room? Dev and I haven’t even done that yet.’

  I felt my eyes widen. ‘Huh?’

  She shrugged. ‘We haven’t had sex.’

  ‘Since . . .?’

  She stared at me, like I was hard of hearing. ‘Since I had Charlie.’

  ‘What?’ I tried not to be judgemental, but . . . well, I was being judgemental. Harriet and Dev hadn’t had sex in eleven months? Suddenly I felt relieved about my own relative chastity.

  She shrugged again. ‘It’s not that big a deal. I just don’t really feel like it anymore, and it’s hard, you know, with Charlie. He’s not –’ She looked away, ashamed. ‘He’s not sle
eping through the night anymore.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Well, he’s only a baby, that’s OK.’

  She looked at me, doubtful. ‘He’ll be a year old next week. And . . . he was sleeping through. I don’t know what happened. I mean, I’ve tried everything.’

  It was not lost on me that Harriet seemed far more upset about her baby not sleeping through the night than she was about her absent sex life. I sensed it wasn’t the time to bring that up, though.

  ‘Oh, Pip still doesn’t sleep through,’ I said reassuringly. I decided not to mention that, in fact, last night she had. Maybe sex was the answer. Maybe if Harriet and Dev had sex, Charlie would sleep through. Probably shouldn’t mention that either.

  She shrugged and her voice took a turn for the defensive. ‘Yeah, but you don’t do any sleep training with Pip. And she goes to daycare for all her naps. I’m home with Charlie all day. Dev said that this year is all about me sleep training Charlie, but he’s still not sleeping through, and I’m going back to work in a month. What’s going to happen when I’m at work, like you?’ Harriet was on the verge of tears.

  I let out a little scoff that I tried to disguise as clearing my throat. ‘Um, well . . . I don’t know,’ I said, looking away and trying not to be hurt by Harriet’s words.

  My phone pinged again. Ugh. Not another update from the Memorial Wardrobe Crisis, I hoped.

  George! You missed a great

  night. Did Media Alert woman

  call you? She left a message

  on my phone this morning.

  Tried to call back but she’s

  not answering. WONDER

  WHAT IS UP????? MP xxx

  ‘Uh, sorry,’ I said, looking down at my phone. ‘Just replying to a work text.’

  Harriet nodded.

  Nope, she hasn’t called

  me. Glad you had a fun

  night. Talk Monday. GH

  I looked up again and clocked Pip raking the ground with her fingers, her little nails filling with mud. This was parenthood: letting your kid distract themselves with something disgusting for an hour, then spending the next two to three hours cleaning it all up. Her socks were already black, and I couldn’t even imagine what the bottom of her romper looked like. Whatever: I’d had sex last night. Pip could vomit on the both of us, shit her pants and rub them all over me today and I wouldn’t care. Sexy sexy sex sex.

  ‘So you’re going back to work?’ I asked, keeping my voice light. The mother’s group mums had been so shocked and dismayed when I’d told them I was going back to work. Harriet had been the calmest one of the lot, but even she had reacted with reservation. I had a feeling she might not exactly be creaming her jeans over the prospect of her own return.

  ‘Yeah,’ she said, with a little sadness. ‘In May.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. ‘Will Charlie go to daycare?’

  ‘Oh no,’ she shook her head. ‘My mum is going to look after him.’

  ‘Wow, that’s so nice,’ I said.

  She looked at me sadly. ‘I honestly don’t know how you do it, George. I mean, I just keep wondering, will it even be worth it?’ She paused. ‘If we paid for daycare, I’d only come out $20 ahead for the week. The whole week. It’s so frustrating.’

  ‘Mmm, but . . . if you love your job, maybe that’s worth more than $20 to you.’

  Harriet stared at me blankly as my phone pinged again. I glanced down.

  Text me ASAP if she

  calls you. MP xxx

  ‘I mean . . . there’s more to work than just money, you know?’

  She frowned.

  ‘And . . . it’s not just you who comes out $20 ahead, that’s $20 for the whole family. Right? I mean, you don’t think of Dev going to work for his money, do you? It’s money for the whole family.’

  She tilted her head, frowning again.

  ‘What I mean is . . . like, it’s not just about you going back to work, is it? It’s the whole childcare . . . problem. Like maybe, if it’s only a difference of $20, maybe it would be better if Dev took some time off.’

  Harriet shook her head.

  ‘Dev’s got nothing to do with it, George,’ she said, her tone a touch withering. ‘He’s happy for me to go back to work.’

  I realised, with a start, that I didn’t even know what Harriet’s job was.

  ‘What do you do, anyway?’

  ‘I’m a zoologist.’

  I threw my head back in surprise. ‘Are you kidding? That’s, like, the coolest job ever. Wow. I had no idea!’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, a little embarrassed. ‘Well, it’s OK.’

  ‘What? Don’t be so modest. It’s amazing. Wow. I’m super impressed. So where do you work?’

  ‘Taronga.’

  I felt my mouth drop open. ‘Seriously, Harriet, I don’t even like animals, but that is so cool. Wow. You get to work at Taronga Zoo?’ I shook my head with disbelief. ‘I am so jealous.’

  Harriet smiled tightly. ‘Yeah, it’s a good job.’

  ‘Are you excited to go back? I mean, wow.’

  She laughed bitterly. ‘You can stop saying “wow” now. I get it, George.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, taken aback. ‘Sorry. I just really am quite impressed. It’s a seriously cool job.’

  She shrugged.

  ‘So you’re looking forward to it? I know I was. It was hard to admit at the time, but . . . I needed to go back.’

  ‘Could you drop it, please? I’m not excited, not at all. I don’t want to go back to work, OK? I don’t even want to think about it right now. I’m not like you. I can’t just go back to work and not worry about my child, OK? Please drop it.’

  Harriet was no longer on the verge of tears but actually crying.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said quietly.

  She sighed deeply, as though I had said something truly offensive, like ‘women aren’t funny’.

  ‘I really don’t know how you do it, that’s all,’ she said, reaching down to scoop Charlie up.

  I leaned back against the fence, watching Pip shove mud into her mouth. People had been saying that to me all year – ‘I don’t know how you do it’ – and I’d thought they were saying, ‘I don’t know how you fit it all in’. But they weren’t. They were saying, ‘I don’t know how you can be away from your baby.’

  Now I understood.

  Chapter 17

  By Monday afternoon, if I heard Meredith say ‘upfronts’ one more time, I thought I might actually open the latch of her office window, push it out and hurl myself through the open space, waving my middle finger in the air as I fell.

  The upfronts were next week, and Meredith was apoplectic with excitement – six-year-old on Christmas Eve excitement. Woman who’s just given birth and is about to have a glass of wine and a wedge of pâté excitement. Julian Assange sunbathing excitement.

  Predictably, Meredith swung between telling me I was going to completely bomb unless I listened to every specific, often contradictory instruction she gave me, and telling me how amazing I was. Today, I was amazing.

  ‘You. Are. Going. To. Crush. It,’ she said, emphasising each word with a little fist pump. ‘We are going to make so much money. It’s going to be so great. You are going to be so great.’

  I smiled, keen to get back to the work of actually, you know, making a magazine. Sure, I wanted the business to make money, but I figured the best way I could achieve that was by making a great magazine that advertisers wanted to buy into. Not by abandoning my magazine to suck up to advertisers who really just wanted a free piss-up, anyway.

  ‘Thanks, Meredith. I’d better get back, I need to finalise the flat plan for next week. I noticed the daycare mums sketch we talked about is on there now – is that right? Has Richard done it? I didn’t brief him.’

  ‘Oh, I did,’ she said, breezily. ‘It’s really funny. Go have a look, it’s all in the system.’

  ‘OK, thanks. I’ll let you know when the flat plan’s ready to go.’

  ‘Sure,’ she said, nodding. ‘I’ll
send you an email with my changes.’

  I raised a brow. ‘Changes?’

  ‘To the presentation. I had a look last night and I need to go over some things. So I’ll just send through the changes and you can make them tonight, OK? This is gonna be a big week, George!’ She clapped three times, her face a tight ball of enthusiasm.

  Neil was at his desk, drinking coffee and reading the paper, which struck me as a particularly leisurely thing to do at 4 pm on a Monday.

  Still, he looked cute.

  I resisted the urge to say anything. We’d texted over the weekend, flirtatious little missives that were like bright bursts of fireworks lighting up the sky. I was determined not to let my run-in with Harriet dampen the loveliness of falling asleep with a warm arm around me, and the texts (OK, sexts) definitely helped.

  But as I walked past, he lifted his head and smiled.

  ‘Hey,’ he said.

  ‘Hi, Neil,’ I said, at least trying to sound professional.

  ‘I need to chat to you about something,’ he said, folding the paper over.

  ‘OK. Can it wait? I need to do the flat plan –’

  ‘No. Sorry. I really need to talk to you.’

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bea look up at us. I flushed.

  ‘OK. Let’s keep it quick.’

  I turned and walked into my office, Neil right behind me. He shut the door.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I said, panicking. ‘You either have to quit or tell me you’re having a baby, because they are the only two reasons you would ever shut my office door. OK?’