by Anne Buist
My family has always been close.
‘You’re so old fashioned,’ Reeva teased.
‘This is suffocating,’ Alison screamed.
To me, it was just natural. When family systems came up in my studies I was genuinely surprised that all families were not like mine. It wasn’t until I was well into psychiatry that the complexity and diversity of families—including my own—was clear to me.
Both Reeva and Alison spoke of bland sibling rivalry. Squabbles with sisters, disdain for younger brothers. But Mala is so much younger—in our early relationship I was her protector. Vesna was sick throughout the pregnancy, both physically and mentally. Before Mala was born there were nights I was farmed out to my paternal grandparents, when I would sneak down the stairs to the place I couldn’t be seen but where I was able to hear the litany of their complaints, the reasons Vesna shouldn’t have got pregnant, the reasons Wendell should never have married her.
Had I been, say, two years of age when Mala was born, a temper tantrum would have been expected. But as it happened her arrival was a distraction from my father’s death. She was a beautiful baby thanks to an emergency caesarean, her features unsquashed. She had a pointed chin and huge eyes and when they opened she seemed to stare right at me. From the moment she could crawl she followed me. Then I was always there for her, shielding her from the impact of Vesna’s paranoid view of the world.
So Mala adored me, Vesna didn’t know quite what to do with me but treated me like a rather strange creature that had turned up unexpectedly, and my father was dead. And Antonije? My grandfather knew I was his heir, and heirs mattered to Antonije.
Heirs matter to me, too.
When I returned home after my night at the Lorne pub, Alison was waiting for me. Alison and the son she carried. My son.
‘You went to see her didn’t you?’
‘Alison you’re tired, go to bed.’
I went over, kissed her gently on the forehead.
‘Are you sleeping with her?’ It was barely more than a whisper.
‘No Alison. She isn’t my type, truly.’
Alison grabbed at my hand. I brushed her wet cheek and sighed.
13
When the band dragged themselves out of bed at eleven, Natalie had already been awake for three hours and gone for a jog. She hadn’t felt like it. After a largely sleepless night, partly because she had been up drinking with the band, partly because Tom and Maggie in the next room had made a lot of noise, she woke to a wave of depression. She had promised herself not to give in to it, so she crawled out into drenching wet mist. Ran harder to keep herself warm.
She was onto her second coffee when Shaun played a loud riff singing Well I woke up this morning, and joined her. Once they had all surfaced she convinced them to walk into Wye River for brunch at the café.
They were seated at the back on a long wooden table, facing plates piled high with eggs, bacon, tomatoes and thick slices of toast when Frank walked in alone. He saw Natalie and gave her a small smile. Dressed in dark trousers and a black polo neck he looked a little like Liam. She squashed the idea and tried to think calming thoughts.
‘An admirer?’ Maggie teased her. Natalie wondered if Maggie felt she had been treading on her toes. Another man other than Tom in Natalie’s life would be good for them both.
‘My boss.’ Natalie watched him order at the counter and didn’t have to wonder for long whether he would come over.
‘Natalie.’ The smile included a twinkle in his eyes. He bent over and kissed her cheek.
‘Frank. The band,’ she said by way of introduction. Frank didn’t bother pretending he didn’t know. ‘Shaun, Gil and Tom. And this is Maggie.’
‘Did you enjoy last night?’ Tom didn’t miss much.
‘Yes I did,’ said Frank, pulling over a chair that he angled between Natalie and Shaun. ‘I didn’t know Natalie had another life.’ His look suggested otherwise. ‘Sadly though, I won’t be able to make Apollo Bay tonight.’
Was this a game, making sure she knew he was following her movements? Part of her was annoyed, but the part of her that was flattered worried her more.
‘Is Alison okay?’
Frank leaned back. ‘Alison? She’s fine. Just not getting much sleep so she goes to bed early.’
‘And doesn’t eat lunch?’ Natalie saw Maggie look at Tom, who shrugged.
‘How long have you guys been playing together?’ Frank asked as the waitress delivered him a coffee. She smiled at him; a smile for a regular. Or else just because he worked hard at being charming.
Shaun finally answered; there had been some changes along the way. Tom and Natalie were the only original members.
‘Ever thought of going professional?’
There were three answers at once. Only Natalie said no.
‘I write my own stuff,’ said Shaun. ‘Natalie does too on occasion.’
Frank looked at Natalie. She couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was about the look that differed from how Damian had looked at her the night before. Or how Liam used to undress her with his eyes. More intellectualisation maybe.
‘I’d love to hear them sometime.’ Now that was something Liam would have said. Shit. She was doing it again. It was something anyone would have said.
Natalie focused on her plate
‘We’re doing a few gigs down here in the next month or two,’ said Gil, probably the only person at the table not aware of the undercurrents.
‘I look forward to them,’ said Frank.
As soon as she saw Damian there at Apollo Bay she wondered about the rules of second dates. The band ribbed her, but it felt good. More to the point it felt safe, not something she usually chased after. But right now whatever was going on with Frank was too complicated to dwell on. She needed some simple light relief and was not going to let the opportunity go if she got another chance.
‘How about closing with “Fucking Perfect”?’ It was how Damian was looking to her at that moment and there was a sadness in the song that she also detected in him; he’d been hurt.
Shaun grinned under his blue-banded straw hat. ‘Hope that doesn’t mean we have to find somewhere else to spend the night.’
‘Not if you don’t mind some extra noise.’
‘Can’t be any worse than Tom last night,’ Gil said, fiddling with his bass tuning. Tom had the grace to look away. He looked happier than she’d ever seen him. She felt happy for him; she hoped her brief surge of anger was about growing old and not about jealousy. She squashed it. Damian had to be interested if he’d turned up two nights in a row. Her instinct couldn’t be that far off, could it?
He was seated at the bar and as she came over in their break he offered the guy on the next stool a free beer to vacate it. The guy looked her up and down and grinned. ‘Good taste, mate.’
She shimmied herself onto the seat and her skirt rode up. There wasn’t much distance to go.
‘Man might be right,’ said Damian.
She loved feeling his eyes on her, wanted to punch her fist in the air and say fuck off to the blues. Right now she didn’t care if she needed a man to help her do that. She had been low long enough to know every moment of feeling good needed to be savoured. And she did feel good, just wasn’t sure it would last. With Liam the sense of him never being hers had added to the adrenaline, but ultimately got in the way. The chance that Damian could be hers terrified her. She was shooting holes in any picket-fence fantasies as fast as her mind conjured them up.
He accepted the invitation to come back with the band for drinks. As she’d come with Shaun she went back in Damian’s Camry, a sound family car with room for kid seats. She hated it. At least it was full of litter and wet towels.
‘You been swimming?’
‘Surfing.’
‘Really?’ He was on the right coast.
‘Bit rusty. Welbury’s landlocked, obviously. And Caitlin wasn’t a beach person.’
‘Your ex?’
‘Yeah.’
&nbs
p; Bob let out a screech as they opened the downstairs door. Damian looked startled.
‘Hello to you too, Bob,’ said Natalie coming up the stairs. ‘This is Damian, he’s a cop.’
‘Call the cops!’ Bob strutted, yellow crest up.
Damian laughed.
‘You’re in luck,’ said Natalie. ‘He likes you; hope you enjoy “Hurricane”.’
She dragged him out onto the balcony, still hot and wired from singing. When the rest of the band arrived they could make themselves at home without her intervention.
‘Drink?’
He shook his head. ‘Just water. I’m driving.’
She went inside and poured herself a bourbon and then a scotch into another glass. Returning to the balcony and closing the door, she offered him the second. He looked quizzically at her. ‘There are some rules I don’t play games with, Natalie.’
‘What? Oh, drink driving. Nor do I.’ She kept her eyes steady, arm still outstretched. She watched as her intent dawned on him, a softening of his features, a brief flash of vulnerability. He took the drink and immediately put it down on the table. Stepped in closer, close enough for her to be able to smell him. She was wondering about how he tasted, the feel of his chest under her fingers, whether he was the athletic type or a gentle giant. Imagined him taking her; whether he would enjoy watching her. In the look they shared she knew his imagination was somewhere in the same vicinity.
He went to speak but she shook her head and pulled him towards her. Lost herself in their kiss, desperate to reconnect with the inner core of a life she had been missing. His hands moved down over her butt, his breath drawn in as he found it bare. Her hands fumbled with his shirt buttons, feeling the roughness, the maleness of the lightly haired torso that was so different from Liam’s.
When the band arrived he was temporarily distracted, until she moved his hand down to be sure she kept his attention. She doubted exhibitionism was usually his style but his enthusiasm suggested but he’d built up as much frustration as she had. It made up for the clumsy speed and mutual lack of familiarity.
He was taller than Liam, more of everything but somehow softer. The balcony rails were an awkward height and she was grateful in the end that he didn’t let her go as she came. She might have tipped over the edge at the final moment.
Later when the band had disappeared they stood naked beneath overcoats, watching the waves together, before she took him to her bed.
They went again, slower this time, more considered, still new to everything about each other but without the frantic need that had driven them on the balcony. She fell asleep in his arms, her last thought a vague wondering about whether his feet hung over the bed end.
‘Fuck.’
Damian tensed beside her. ‘I’m sorry. I thought you…’
Natalie looked at him and frowned. ‘Forgot to close the blinds.’ The clock showed 7 a.m. In the early morning light, he looked every bit as good as he had the night before. He tentatively put his arm around her.
‘So you didn’t mean…?’
Natalie laughed and turned her head to kiss him. ‘No, don’t panic, I’ll take fifty per cent of the blame.’
Damian seemed perplexed.
‘Neither of us remembered a condom. And it’s been a while so I stopped the pill.’
Damian looked tense. Shit. Men.
‘It’s fine. I’ll just have to go to a chemist and get the morning-after.’
This didn’t seem to help Damian’s state of mind. He put his other arm under his head and looked at the ceiling. She felt a twinge of uncertainty. Surely he didn’t have an STD?
‘You don’t have to bother,’ he finally said.
Natalie remembered Declan’s non-joke about Frank naming his child after her. ‘Oh yes I do.’
‘I’m infertile.’
Natalie stared at him. ‘Oh Damian.’ She watched the many nuances that flashed across his face as she put the pieces together. ‘With Caitlin. Was that…?’
‘Yes.’
She didn’t say anything, waited for him to continue.
‘Our chances of getting pregnant without intervention were something like one in a million. I wasn’t keen on intervention.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah well I guess I just have to live with it. Better you know in case you were intending anything more than a casual screw.’
‘No, that wasn’t why I was sorry. I was sorry it broke up your marriage.’
‘She got what she wanted. The happy couple are due to be parents at any moment.’
‘She left you for someone?’
‘In time-honoured fashion, my best mate.’
‘And I suppose it’s him you miss?’
Damian finally smiled. ‘Actually I miss the sex. Until last night anyway.’
‘The upside of not having enough little swimmers,’ said Natalie climbing astride him, ‘is that we can think of something else to do instead of racing to the chemist.’
14
I watched her from my car as she entered the café. There is something mesmerising about her, an inner vitality that draws me to her. I love how her nostrils flare when she thinks she is losing the game, how she comes back batting. She wants me to know she is onto me. Or so she thinks. But this is my territory, both physically and metaphorically. I have been playing these games to survive since I was a child.
Now I am playing them with Alison.
‘What do you mean you’re supervising her?’
‘She wants to do research. It’s what I do. You may recall we have a large gap in funds; Dr King doesn’t require funding immediately and she may be able to help us put together some smaller grant proposals. Her academic record is outstanding.’
‘Academic record?’ Alison’s laugh when she was angry had a harsh sound, most unfeminine. ‘You mean she’d sleep with anyone to get what she wanted?’
I had perhaps exaggerated. Her referees spoke primarily of her clinical acumen. Her referees I noted, were all men, except for the manager at Yarra Bend forensic hospital.
‘And she just happened to find you?’
‘Yes.’ I am, as I have said, a patient man. I put the paper down and looked out across the manicured lawn to the lake: the magical kingdom Antonije had brought us back to when I was ten. ‘Don’t do this, Alison.’
Alison burst into tears and took off to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. I’d give her a half hour then go and give her the reassurances she was after.
‘Trouble in paradise?’ Mala went to the drink cabinet and poured herself a gin and tonic.
‘Is it terrible of me to have some empathy with Henry the Eighth?’ I asked.
‘Oh God. Not another four, please.’ Mala’s hand trailed over my shoulder as she rounded the couch and sat next to me. ‘Of course, it was the third wife who gave him the son.’
But the third wife died in childbirth. Almost like Reeva.
I shook my head. ‘I’m just tired.’
‘Hardly a wonder, brother dearest.’
I frowned. ‘Mala I know you loved Reeva, but…’
‘Reeva had chutzpah.’
And Alison…‘It’s just the pregnancy. She’ll be fine.’
Mala didn’t look convinced. I turned away, watched my mother leaving the boathouse that she used to paint in when she was well, to hide away in when she wasn’t. Vesna glided, I thought; long black-grey hair flowing behind her. As if the path she walked on might break into a thousand pieces at any moment.
‘She’s stopped taking her pills.’
It took me a moment to register that Mala was watching Vesna too. I didn’t respond.
‘It wasn’t fair of me to be mean about Alison.’ Mala stood by the window. ‘Vesna isn’t exactly the perfect mother-in-law.’
‘She doesn’t need half the pills she’s on.’
Mala turned and regarded me silently before speaking. ‘I know they’re mostly sedatives. But un-sedated…there’s no telling what she might say.’
&
nbsp; Or do.
15
‘You talked about shame in the last session,’ Natalie began. ‘I wonder if you remember any times you felt like that when you were a child?’
This early period in her life was where Georgia had got her scars. Opening them, a little at least, was the way to help her understand herself and make changes. To date, Georgia had been too ready to give the answer she thought Natalie wanted. Or more likely the answer that would serve her in court.
Georgia’s expression was flat. Her denial about life after her trial—the most likely outcome—was breaking down. Her sleep was poor and she’d made a manic return to the gym six times a week. And no makeup today. For once she looked older than her years, a normal tired housewife rather than the Stepford version.
‘It was Virginia’s favourite phrase.’ Virginia was Georgia’s aunt, the woman who had mostly raised her. ‘I’m so ashamed of you.’ Her tone was biting and her face screwed up in a parody of the disapproving parent.
‘That must have been hard.’
Georgia shrugged. Easier to cut off from the importance of people and emotions than to re-experience the intense vulnerability she had felt at the time.
‘Can you think of an example?’
Georgia waved her hand dismissively, then stopped, her hand mid-air slowly coming back to her mouth.
‘What did you just remember?’
‘It was nothing.’
Georgia needed it to be nothing now. Natalie suspected it hadn’t been at the time.
‘Tell me anyway.’
Georgia frowned. ‘Just an image, from nowhere really.’
‘Describe it.’
‘I was in the kitchen. I think I must have been helping Virginia cook.’
Natalie waited.
‘I suppose I must have dropped the eggs on the floor. I think she turned and bumped me. Or maybe she’d told me not to touch them and I’d been trying to help.’
‘Do you remember how you felt?’
‘I can just see those eggs on the ground. At least two, yolks smearing and mixing with the whites. I can remember the stickiness of the egg white on my hands.’ Georgia absentmindedly rubbed her fingers along the neat crease of her trousers.