by Suzanne Leal
‘Where’s her grandmother?’ she asks him.
Immediately, his faces falls. It’s all the answer she needs. Clearly, the grandmother is not here and he is alone with the child.
Sure enough, she’s right. The grandmother’s in hospital, that’s what he says. She’s in hospital and Terry is minding the fort.
‘Vonnie needed someone to look after Bridie,’ he tells her, but he’s stuttering and stammering so hard she can hardly make out what he’s saying, ‘so I put up my hand.’
She can feel the heat rising inside her. ‘Surely, that’s not your job,’ she says. ‘Surely that’s something for her family to do.’
‘Sorry?’ he says, frowning hard as though he hasn’t understood a word she’s said.
She repeats herself very slowly and very clearly. ‘I said, her family should be looking after her, not you, Terry.’
He licks his lips before he answers her. It irks her to watch it. Don’t lick your lips at me, she wants to snap at him. She forces herself to stay quiet.
‘You’ve seen the records, Laurie,’ he says. ‘The mother’s dead, the father’s AWOL and the grandmother’s a widow—where exactly is the family to look after her?’
He’s lost the stammering now. Now he’s back to his usual arrogant self. Well, two can play at that. She pulls herself up so she’s standing very tall. ‘There must be someone,’ she says.
He crosses his arms in front of him. ‘That’s right, Laurie,’ he says, ‘there is someone—there’s me.’ His tone is so patronising she could slap him.
‘So you thought it would be a good idea to move in with one of your students without telling me? Is that what you’re saying?’ She speaks as calmly as she can.
It gives her some satisfaction to watch his face turn red. ‘Well, Laurie, that’s not how I’d describe it,’ he says, ‘and quite frankly, I don’t know what you’re insinuating. All I know is that I’ve been helping out a family that needed a bit of support.’
She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she keeps it very cool. ‘Well, Terry,’ she responds, ‘I’m astounded that you didn’t speak to me about this. As your principal, I have a right to be informed of situations like these.’
She can’t believe his reply: ‘I wasn’t aware of that.’
That’s when she explodes. ‘What do you mean you weren’t aware of that? Surely you’re familiar with the departmental guidelines on protective practices?’
He just stares at her.
‘And you’re aware of the policy on home visits, aren’t you?’
Slowly, he shakes his head at her. ‘Laurie, you’re not listening to me,’ he says. ‘I’m not visiting her, I’m looking after her.’
As if that is an answer. ‘Well, that just makes it even more inappropriate.’ She’s trying hard not to shout now. She’s trying as hard as she can. ‘That just makes it completely inappropriate.’
At that moment, a voice rings out from behind her. ‘What’s inappropriate?’
Laurie swings around to find a woman standing in front of her. Before she can say anything, Terry steps in. ‘Michelle, love,’ he’s saying, ‘this is Laurie Mathews. Laurie, my wife Michelle.’
It’s as if they’ve all just met at a cocktail party. Laurie is dumbfounded. The woman—Michelle—gives her a smile. ‘Would you like to come in?’
Caught off guard, Laurie just stares at her. ‘No,’ she says, ‘I won’t stay. I just needed a word with Terry.’
Michelle keeps smiling. ‘If you’re sure.’
She is sure. She’s absolutely sure. Absolutely sure that she wants to get the hell out of here. If she doesn’t, she’ll throttle Terry Pritchard. So she turns around and marches back to the car. But her hands are shaking so much she can hardly manage to open the door, and once she’s inside, she has to try twice to get the key in the ignition. Keep it together, she tells herself, just keep it together. All she needs to do is turn on the engine and start driving home. Then she can decide what to do next.
The audacity, the sheer audacity of the man: that’s what she can’t believe. How is she supposed to deal with someone like that? How can she be expected to supervise a man who shows nothing but contempt for her and who openly defies departmental guidelines?
And what in God’s name has he been doing with that little girl?
And what was he doing drinking beer there, at night, alone, in her house?
She should have called the police. That’s what she should have done. And if his wife hadn’t turned up, she would have. She’d have called the police on him, then and there.
Now, as she makes her way home, she wonders whether she shouldn’t have done it anyway. Whether she should have just called the police and been done with it. Wife or no wife.
Too late now.
But not too late to put in a call to the unit. And this time, she’ll be insisting that Lucy Carboni take her seriously.
Nina
In bed that night, the night of his confession, Steve clings to her like a baby. She lets herself be held, lets herself be moulded to his body shape, lets herself be gentle with him. He sleeps before she does, well before she does.
In the morning, he is the one to wake her. Gently, his hand on her shoulder. But she won’t be woken easily and it takes some time before she can manage to keep her eyes open. He brings her a cup of tea and when she sees this, she gives him a small, sleepy smile. He smiles back, but his smile is wary. It is this that jolts her out of her half-sleep, reminding her that despite the tea, things are not okay.
She starts when she sees the time—it is already after eight. It takes her a moment or two to remember that it is not, in fact, a school day; that it is Saturday. And yet Steve is wearing his suit.
‘You working?’ she asks, her voice still thick with sleep.
‘I told you I was,’ he says.
She can’t remember this but who knows? And anyway, what does it matter?
What’s going to happen to us? This is what she wants to ask him. She doesn’t. She just nods. ‘Okay,’ she says as he leaves. ‘Okay.’
But it isn’t okay. For how can she be sure that he is, in fact, going to work? How can she be sure he won’t be with her instead? How can she be sure of anything at all?
She can hear the television blaring in the lounge room, which means that Emily must be in front of it. She should get up, check that Emily has had breakfast. The problem is, she can’t get up. She actually can’t get up. All her energy has simply evaporated. She should be crying, that’s what she should be doing. She should be crying because her marriage is unravelling. But for some reason, she can’t even do that. She can’t cry and she can’t get out of bed. And all she wants to do is pull the quilt over her head and pretend none of this is happening. Sleep it all away, that’s what she wants to do, just sleep it all away. And so, her head resting on her pillow, she lets her eyelids close.
They don’t stay closed. Instead, they spring open with the sound of footsteps coming towards her. For a small person, Emily has a heavy tread.
‘Mummy,’ she says, ‘are you sick in bed?’
Nina turns her head to look at her daughter. ‘I’m just tired in bed, that’s all.’
‘It’s morning time, Mummy,’ Emily says. ‘You’ve got to get up because it’s morning time.’
Morning time is the last thing Nina wants to face. Just this once, she wants to beseech her tiny daughter, just this once don’t make me get up.
But Emily is absolutely right: it is morning time and so Nina must get up.
‘I’ll help you,’ the little girl tells her, her face earnest and confident. ‘I’ll help you get up.’
Taking Nina’s hand in hers, she tries to pull her up, right up out of bed. To help her, Nina lifts herself up but pretends it is Emily who has done it. Delighted, the girl’s face breaks into a smile so broad it forces one out of Nina, too.
Now that she is up, the day ahead looms large and long, and she will need to think of a way to fill it.
Sh
e could take Emily around to see Colin. Colin is mostly at home on Saturdays and he’s always happy to see them. And yet she hesitates. What will she say if her father-in-law asks her how she is? Colin has never been interested in pat answers, in nothing answers, and Nina has always been honest with him. But how can she be honest about this? How can she tell him that his son is having an affair? She can’t, she simply can’t. So no, they won’t be visiting Poppy today.
Marina sleeps in on Saturdays, especially if she’s been out the night before, which means that an early visit is out of the question. In any case, Nina isn’t sure she could manage the day with Marina. What if she has more to tell her? More that Nina doesn’t want to hear? So they will not visit Marina either.
Instead, they spend the morning at the local park. At the park, Emily is in her element. Nina is not. For Nina, the park is a place where time stands still. There is a group of children there; some adults, too, but no one Nina knows or even recognises. So with a smile planted on her face, Nina stands apart as she watches Emily slide down the slippery dip, rock on a plastic dolphin and steer a bright yellow motorboat. When Emily needs help on the monkey bars, she keeps her smile as she holds her daughter up so she can grab at each rung until she has reached the other side; she keeps her smile, too, as she lunges to save Emily from falling through a gap in the climbing gym.
It is time for lunch when they get home and in the afternoon, they snuggle up on the lounge to watch a DVD. She hears nothing from Steve.
That evening, she feeds Emily early and by seven, the girl has been bathed and put to bed. There is still no word from Steve and she can’t face calling to find out when he will be home. Instead, she leaves the dinner in the oven while, stiff-backed, she waits for him to come home. At eight thirty-six, when the car pulls into the driveway, she freezes, uncertain whether to stay put or go to the front door. She is still deciding when he lets himself in. Immediately, the smell of alcohol hits her.
She doesn’t mention it. She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t greet him with a kiss. She doesn’t greet him at all. All she can manage is a tiny, tight smile.
‘I’ve made dinner,’ she tells him.
But when she serves it, the meat is tough and dry from being in the oven too long and although he says nothing, she sees him grimace as he chews. This is what enrages her: that he should be grimacing when it is his fault the dinner is ruined.
The water jug is on the table, closer to her than it is to him. When he asks for water, she stands up without a word, reaches for the jug and begins to fill his glass.
You bastard, she thinks. How dare you stay back drinking while I’m looking after Emily and making your bloody dinner? This is what she wants to scream at him. This, and so many other things. Instead, she keeps pouring. And once the glass is full, still she keeps pouring; pouring and pouring until the glass overfills and water runs first onto the table and then onto the floor. She doesn’t stop. Even when Steve yells at her to get a grip, still she keeps pouring, until the jug is empty, the table is drenched and the water continues to spread across the floor. Only then does she put the jug back on the table and leave the room.
She can’t think what else to do, so she shuts herself in the bedroom. This would be the time to cry but for some reason she can’t; she just can’t. By contrast, she feels strangely calm.
She will take a shower, that’s what she will do. In the shower stall, she turns the hot tap right up, revelling in the heat of the water, in the fact that it is almost hotter than she can bear. She could stay there forever, but she doesn’t. She turns off the taps, reaches for a towel to wrap around herself and returns to the bedroom.
She is surprised to find Steve there, his back to her as he slides open the wardrobe door.
‘What are you doing?’ she asks him.
He doesn’t turn around. ‘I’m going to stay with Dad,’ he says, his voice clipped.
Panic travels the length of her backbone. ‘What, now?’
‘I think it’d be a good idea.’
A good idea for who? she wonders.
‘What do you mean?’
This time he does turn around. ‘I mean, I think we should spend some time apart.’
Nina’s heart is beating hard now, so hard and loud it seems to push up against her ribcage. ‘What do you mean?’ she asks. Her voice is shrill now, even she hears it.
‘I just think it would be better.’ His voice is not shrill. His voice is terse, but measured.
‘How much time?’ Her voice is so high-pitched she hardly recognises it.
‘I don’t know,’ he tells her. ‘I don’t know.’
For some reason, she stays to watch him pack. He doesn’t take much—little more than a change of clothes—and she fixes on this as proof that this is just a temporary thing, just a small thing that will soon be sorted.
With that in mind, she sees him to the door. Only when she hears the engine start and the car drive away, does she start to cry. What now? What now?
The night is cold and, alone, the bed is too large for her. And so, sometime in the early hours of the morning, she slips into Emily’s bedroom and into her bed. To fit in, she has to curl herself right around her daughter’s body. Her breath—Emily’s breath—is soft and regular, so soft and so regular it is almost hypnotic.
Steve doesn’t come back. He stays away. He rings for the first time on Thursday, when he says he’d like to have Emily for the weekend.
It is a request that floors her. It is the type of request divorced people make. And she is not divorced. She is married. She and Steve are married.
She rings Marina in a panic. For a long time, Marina just listens. ‘I know,’ she says finally, ‘I know. But Emily needs to see him, doesn’t she?’
‘Couldn’t he just come over to see her?’ Nina’s voice is less than a whisper.
‘That won’t work, Nina, you know it won’t. And anyway, Colin will be there, too, and Emily loves being with Colin.’
The mention of her father-in-law makes Nina want to weep. ‘But so do I,’ she says.
It nearly breaks her to do it, but on Friday night, she packs her daughter’s suitcase, which is new. The pyjamas she packs are new, too, as is the book she slips in to be read before bedtime.
The next morning, Emily wakes early. She is excited, she tells Nina, excited that Daddy will be picking her up and excited that they will be seeing Poppy.
When Steve arrives, she doesn’t know what to say to him: here is her husband, on the doorstep of their house, and she has no idea how to behave. In the end, she gives him a stiff nod as she waits for him to come inside. He doesn’t move. She is slow to realise that he is waiting for an invitation—for an invitation to come into his own house. ‘Come in,’ she hears herself saying, ‘please.’ Strange words to be speaking; strange words for a wife to say to her husband. But there they are. And so he does come in and then, somehow, they are sitting at the dining table and the kettle is boiling and she is asking him whether he would like tea or coffee.
‘Coffee,’ he answers, lifting his left hand a little. A hand that somehow looks different, that somehow looks foreign. For a moment she can’t work out why. It is a shock when she realises what it is: his wedding ring is gone. Hers is still on her finger, but his is gone. Gone where? This is her thought and it is by mistake that the words leave her lips.
He doesn’t answer her.
So they sit at the table in silence. He drinks his coffee quickly, so quickly she’s sure he’ll scald himself. She wonders how he can even swallow—her throat is so dry now it hurts, and her own coffee stays untouched.
From the hallway, Emily’s voice is high and musical. ‘Is Daddy here?’ she calls. ‘Is my daddy here?’
Steve finishes his coffee as he stands up. ‘I’ll get her,’ he says, but it sounds like a question; it sounds like he is asking for her permission.
Her lips tight, Nina nods, and as he makes his way to Emily’s bedroom, Nina hears him exhale. It is a long exhalation,
the type made at the end of an examination, or worse: at the end of an interrogation. It upsets her to hear it. It upsets her, too, to hear Emily’s excited scream when she sees him. Daddy! The word is long and drawn out and delighted. For a moment, Nina is envious of her; envious of the three-year-old who is still loved by a man who no longer loves her.
Come back, she wills him. Come back.
Instead, he sends Emily into the kitchen to say goodbye. To say goodbye. To her own mother! How can that be? How can her little girl be taken away, just like that? No, she wants to scream, no, no, no. But she mustn’t do that. What she must do is this: she must push out a smile from her tightened lips; she must find a sparkle for her eyes—but from where?—and she must say, Goodbye, my darling, have lots and lots of fun. And she must not cry.
She doesn’t. Not even a tear. And although her smile feels like a grimace, Emily is fooled by it. ‘Goodbye, my silly mummy,’ she says, rubbing her hands down Nina’s cheeks. ‘Goodbye, my silly-billy-willy mummy.’
She should see them out—she should see her daughter and her husband out—but when she tries to stand, her legs won’t move. Just won’t move. Steve, she wants to tell him, can you believe it? I can’t stand up, I can’t even move my legs.
But he doesn’t come back into the kitchen; he just calls, ‘Come on, Em—let’s go.’
And Emily says, ‘Okay, Daddy,’ and just like that, they are gone.
She is unused to having time to spare. She is unused to being alone. In the afternoon, she hires some DVDs and in the evening she watches them. For dinner, she has a third of a bottle of wine and a packet of chocolate biscuits.
When, finally, she takes herself off to bed, she is scared she won’t be able to sleep, that she will lie awake all night. But she does sleep and when she sleeps, she dreams.
In her dream, she is wandering; walking around a building she doesn’t recognise. Emily is lying in her arms and Nina holds her, as closely as she can, her head resting in the crook of Nina’s arm. Her daughter has been dead for some days, it seems, and for all these days, Nina has been carrying her. The building, she realises, is a hospital and Nina finds herself in a room with a bed and a couple of chairs. A woman is sitting in one of the chairs while Nina sits on the bed, still clasping Emily to her. The woman starts to ask questions of Nina: her name, her address, her religion, her education, her height, her weight.