Misconception

by Rebecca Freeborn

  Tom took a deep breath. ‘They treated her just like a normal baby.’

  Three pairs of eyes looked back at him, waiting.

  ‘It’s not like she was going to get cold, but they wrapped her in a blanket anyway,’ he went on. ‘She couldn’t feel their hands, but they were so gentle with her. She couldn’t hear them, but they still spoke softly to her. I don’t think they were doing it for our benefit. It was more than that. They respected her. They honoured her.’

  Tears made twin tracks down Anthea’s face.

  ‘I expected there to be… something wrong.’ Tom’s voice began to crack. ‘But she was perfect. So perfect.’

  He leant his elbows on his knees and buried his face in his hands. His body shook with sobs. A hand came to rest on his shoulder and he knew it was Anthea’s. He was sick with longing to feel his wife’s arms around him, but when he looked up, Ali was just staring at him, almost as if she didn’t know him at all.

  Before

  Tom was at the bar ordering a round when he saw her. She wasn’t tall, but she had this confidence, a charisma, that made her stand out from the group she was with. While he waited for his drinks, Tom found himself watching her as she led an animated discussion with her friends. She was crazy hot, with her perfect shoulders and her slender legs, but it was her eyes that drew Tom in as she gesticulated—bright eyes that shone with unrestrained passion.

  ‘I’d rather burn in hell than work on the sports round!’ she declared.

  ‘Are you really telling me you’d rather cover politics than football?’ one of her friends said.

  ‘Are you really telling me football is more important than the decisions that influence our lives?’ she retorted.

  ‘The average reader thinks so.’

  She made an exasperated sound. ‘The average reader is a fucking twit, Charlotte, and you know it.’

  Tom paid for his drinks and poked his head into their circle. ‘I’m not sure if I count as an average reader or a fucking twit, but I don’t think football is important at all.’

  Their gazes met and held. Tom felt an invisible thread spring from her and latch onto him, fine as gossamer. Her lips parted slightly in a bemused smile. He grinned at her before taking his drinks and returning to his own group. But as he tried to resume the conversation he’d been having with one of his colleagues, he couldn’t stop glancing back over at her, and every time he did, he could’ve sworn she’d just been looking at him.

  ‘You trying to pick up, mate?’ his colleague asked, following his glance.

  ‘What? No.’ Tom felt unusually flustered. He’d never hesitated when he was interested in someone before. ‘I just thought I recognised someone, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, you must be right, because she’s coming over.’

  Tom swung around to see her approaching, her eyes locked onto his, that same smile on her face that half frightened, half thrilled him. She came to a stop before him and, despite their size difference, the directness and confidence of her gaze didn’t falter for a second. ‘So what do you think is important?’

  Tom stared blankly at her.

  ‘If you want to know whether you’re one of the fucking twits, I’m going to have to know what’s important to you.’

  Tom had never felt so disarmed before. He’d never had any trouble talking to women, but now he could not think of a thing to say, not a single thing.

  Her face relaxed into an easy grin and she held her hand out to him. ‘Sorry, I’m being rude. I’m Alison. Ali.’

  Tom took her hand and a jolt of attraction crackled between them. He knew she’d felt it too, because she gripped his hand just a little bit tighter. This knowledge restored both his confidence and his wits, and he smiled back at her, still holding her hand in his. ‘Pleased to meet you, Alison Ali. I’m Thomas Tom.’

  Ali

  Ali had limped through another week when she received a text message from Claudia.

  Hey preggo lady! You must b starting ur mat leave soon. Lets catch up for lunch xx

  She stared at the message for a long time. She’d always found Claudia’s penchant for neglecting punctuation and abbreviating words irritating, but now it seemed to mock her, to make light of her situation. She leapt on the opportunity to lash out at someone, to deflect the pain she’d locked inside.

  I won’t be going on maternity leave, she replied. The baby died.

  There was a full minute of silence before her phone started ringing. She rejected the call. It rang again shortly after, and this time Kayla’s name was on the screen. She stared numbly at the phone as it rang, but didn’t answer. At least now they knew.

  Tom walked into the room. ‘Who was that?’

  ‘Kayla,’ she said. ‘And Claudia.’

  ‘You didn’t want to speak to them?’

  ‘No.’

  Kayla had been her best friend since primary school, and under normal circumstances she wouldn’t have hesitated to talk to her. Kayla had always been there for her, had been her family, the sister she’d never had. If anyone would understand how she felt, it was her.

  But these were not normal circumstances.

  Kayla had her own family now. It had been hard enough to stay in touch over the years since she’d had her children and their regular catch-ups had been interrupted, delayed or cancelled by crying babies, clashing schedules and inconvenient day sleeps. Ali had been confused and even a little resentful of the way Kayla had allowed her children to take over her life. And now, just as she’d finally started to have an inkling of what it all meant, her chance of becoming a parent had been snatched away. She couldn’t bear to see her now.

  Tom crouched down beside her. His warm hand touched her shoulder, tentative, as if he were afraid of how she would react. ‘Maybe it would help to talk to someone else about it? If you don’t want to talk to me.’

  The hurt in his voice felt like an accusation. Once, she would have kept nothing from him. But now… Her arms were frozen to her sides, her gaze fixed on the floor. ‘I can’t. I can’t do it.’

  ‘What about a counsellor?’ Tom persisted. ‘Someone who’s not so close?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk to anybody.’

  His hand inched along her shoulders until his arm encircled her. ‘It’ll get easier. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but it won’t always hurt like this.’

  Ali stood abruptly and his arm fell away from her. ‘I’m going to go back to work next week.’

  She hadn’t known she was going to say the words until they’d come out. She hadn’t even spoken to Alex since that day in the hospital. But work had always been her refuge. Now she thought about it, it was just what she needed, to start using her brain again, to push aside the pain and move on.

  Tom’s eyes widened from where he still crouched on the floor. ‘Oh Ali, no, please don’t. You’re not ready to face that. Take some more time.’

  ‘It’s been almost two weeks. I don’t want to sit around wallowing anymore.’

  Tom stood so she had to look up to maintain his gaze. ‘Facing up to what happened isn’t wallowing. It’s too soon.’

  Shame rose up inside her like bile. Even he was judging her, as if there were only one way to get over their loss, as if everything would return to normal if only she followed the expected rites of grief. ‘It’s not like I don’t know what happened. She’s gone. Staying at home longer isn’t going to change that.’

  Tom looked at his feet. ‘I know that. I’m just trying to help.’

  Guilt sluiced through her. She took a step towards him and held out her hand, then let it fall back to her side. In all their time together, she’d never found it so difficult to reach out to him. She had always craved physical contact with him, but now it was as if the invisible thread between them had stretched so far that she couldn’t find her way back. ‘I think it will help us both to get back into a normal routine,’ she said.

  ‘I can’t stop you.’ He turned away from her. ‘But I think it’s a mistake.’


  Ali watched as he left the room, then bent to pick up her phone from the floor. There was a text message from Kayla.

  I’m so sorry, Ali. Claudia just told me the news. When you’re ready to talk, I’m here.

  Ali blinked back her tears and closed the message. Then she found Alex’s number and held the phone to her ear.

  * * *

  It was surreal to walk between the brown stone pillars and into the 1970s Education Centre that housed the minister’s office. And when Ali emerged from the lift into the reception area, she may as well have been stepping off a plane into another country. She’d only been away two weeks, but the place felt different. Foreign. Unfamiliar.

  Hilary, the receptionist, did a double-take when she saw her. ‘Ali! I wasn’t expecting to see you back here for a while yet.’

  Ali tried on a smile, but she could feel her face disintegrating at the edges, twisting sideways, threatening to collapse. ‘You know me. I can never stay away for long.’

  Hilary’s expression was a strange mixture of pity and disapproval. ‘I was so sorry to hear the news. It must have been so awful for you. If you ever want to… you know.’

  ‘Yep.’ Ali ducked her head and hurried away up the hallway. When she reached her office, she closed the door and sat down at her desk. Blood pounded in her head. This was harder than she’d expected. Perhaps Tom was right. Perhaps it had been a mistake to come back so soon.

  She fired up her computer and sought refuge in her emails. But she’d already checked them last night, and nothing new had come up. Helen, her friend and another of the government’s pool of media advisers, had so efficiently taken over her duties that there was no evidence that her presence had been missed at all. There were no emails from the departmental communications staff. Nothing from any journos. No one had even copied her in on any issues that had no doubt cropped up over the last two weeks. She wondered whether any of them even knew she was back today.

  She jumped at a sharp knock on her office door. The door eased open and Alex poked his head in. He wore an expression she’d never seen on him before: uncertainty.

  ‘Hi, Al.’ He sounded cautious, as if he were afraid that his words would puncture her. ‘Welcome back.’

  Alex would’ve been a confirmed member of the old boys’ club if he hadn’t been so young. In his early forties, he had the kind of rakish good looks that allowed him to get away with behaviour that would have anyone else labelled a sexist pig. He was a strong leader who pushed his staff hard, and Ali was always ready to rise to the challenge. She found herself inured to his less attractive traits after her years as a journalist on the newsroom floor, and his political savvy and commitment to his job had earned him her respect.

  But she barely recognised this version of him.

  ‘It looks like nothing’s happened since I left,’ she said.

  He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. ‘Not much has. The presser went smoothly the other week, and—’ He stopped abruptly as it must have occurred to him what Ali had been going through at the time. He shuffled his feet, clearly having no idea how to act around her.

  ‘So what’s on the agenda this week?’ Ali asked.

  ‘Geoff’s doing a few school visits in Lee tomorrow.’ Alex was visibly relieved to move on to familiar topics. ‘A primary school and a high school. It’s a marginal seat, so it’s good for him to be seen there.’

  Ali wondered why he was explaining such elementary information. She knew all this; it had been her idea in the first place to do visits in the marginals in the year leading up to the election. ‘What time do we leave?’

  Alex shifted on the spot again. ‘I’ve asked Helen to do these ones. Give you a chance to ease back into things.’

  She forced out a dry laugh. ‘I’ve only been away two weeks, Alex. I’ve done about a million school visits. I’ve got this.’

  ‘Let’s see how things go, OK?’ Alex backed up a few steps towards the door, running a hand through his silvering hair. Keen to escape, as if her pain would rub off on him. ‘One other thing… I didn’t want to discuss this over the phone, but I’d like you to see a counsellor.’

  ‘No,’ Ali said automatically. ‘I don’t do counsellors.’

  Alex cleared his throat. ‘I know you’re tough, Ali, but you’ve been through some shit, and I need to know you can deal with this. We can pay for a few sessions, get you started.’

  ‘It’s not about the money, Alex. This is not your decision to make.’

  Alex was looking increasingly uncomfortable. ‘Actually, it kind of is.’

  She leant forward in her seat. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘This is an important year for us. We’re in real danger of losing this election, and I need you on your game. If you won’t see someone, I’ll have to get someone else from the media pool to take over for you.’

  Ali stared at him in disbelief. ‘I can do this, Alex. I don’t need to see anyone.’

  He shook his head. ‘I’ve made my decision.’

  Ali nodded, too angry to speak.

  ‘Good on you, Al.’ He left her office, closing the door on his way out.

  Ali let her breath out in a shuddering draught. How dare he imply that she couldn’t handle the pressure of the election? She was a professional. She didn’t need to see a psychologist to do her job. As if to prove him wrong, she turned back to her computer and tapped out a quick email to the departmental staff with a CC to Helen, informing them that she was back at work and they should resume directing any media issues to her. She had just hit send when there was another knock on her door, and Geoff Saunders, education minister and hands down the most genuine person she’d met in politics, entered the office. He didn’t look awkward. He didn’t shuffle his feet and fumble with his hands. He just looked sad.

  ‘Ali,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  He came around to her side of the desk and, when she stood up, he put his arms around her and held her. Ali stared hard at the ceiling to prevent the tears from slipping out.

  He stepped back, but left his hands on her shoulders. ‘You know you didn’t need to come back to work so soon?’

  Ali shook her head. ‘I just wanted to get back into it. Take my mind off things.’

  Geoff gave her a gentle smile. ‘Well, if it gets too much, or if you need to take more time… There are more important things in life than work. You have to look after yourself.’

  The effort of not falling apart made Ali clench her fists. ‘Thanks, Geoff. I’ll be OK.’

  Once he had gone, she slipped out of her office and down the hallway to the bathroom. She locked herself in a cubicle, sat down on the toilet and put her head in her hands. Her tears pooled in her palms and dripped onto the floor.

  Tom

  Tom hadn’t wanted to come back to work this soon, but with Ali returning to work today, there didn’t seem much point staying home by himself. It was somehow absurd that everything had continued in his absence, that no one else here was grieving like he was. Everyone had been so nice to him when he’d arrived at work. His PA had brought him coffee and a sympathetic smile. The other partners all said a few words to acknowledge his loss. After that, everyone seemed to avoid him, as if they didn’t want his grief to interfere with their normal lives. When he emerged from his office for this or that, small knots of staff who had gathered to talk about their favourite reality TV shows quickly scuttled away like school children. The whole floor seemed shrouded in an unnatural silence, but Tom knew it was only the bubble that surrounded him.

  It wasn’t that he wanted pity, he just wanted to be able to talk about Elizabeth. He wanted to tell them how beautiful she was, how special it had been to spend that time with her in the hospital. But they wouldn’t understand. Hell, he wouldn’t have understood it had he not gone through it himself.

  On his way to get a coffee from the cafe on the ground floor, he passed Cliff, managing partner of the Adelaide branch of Grange Jefferson, coming the
other way. The older man was leaving the cafe with one of their clients, laughing at something. For a split second, Tom was outraged—how could he be making jokes at a time like this? But then he remembered. It was just him that inhabited this world. Everyone else still carried on in a parallel universe where nothing had changed.

  Cliff’s eyes met Tom’s and his laugh ended abruptly. He gave Tom a pat on the shoulder as they passed one another. Tom fought back tears as he ordered his coffee. How long was he going to feel like this? He’d told Ali that it would get easier, and the words had felt logical when he’d said them, but now he felt like a hypocrite when he couldn’t even believe them himself.

  * * *

  He didn’t intend to work late, but six o’clock came and went and, out of habit, Tom was still at his desk. On his first day back, he’d already managed to push Elizabeth into the background. What kind of person did that? Hadn’t he castigated Ali for wanting to do it only a few days ago? Guilt filled him as he shut down his computer, shrugged into his suit jacket and left the office.

  As he pulled into the driveway at home, he was relieved to see the glow of the hallway light through the frosted-glass panel in the front door. Ali was in the kitchen, fiddling with a stack of papers on the bench. Tom leant over to kiss her, but she turned away at the last moment and his lips glanced over her cheek. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so late.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, I left early anyway. I’ve got next to no work to do. Alex thinks I’m not up to it yet.’

  Tom flinched at the bitterness in her tone. He wondered whether her words were in part directed at him. After all, hadn’t he practically said the same thing?

  Ali picked up the glass of water by her elbow and drained it in a single gulp. ‘He’s also forcing me to see a fucking counsellor, as a condition of coming back to work. Can you believe it?’

  Tom brightened for a moment, but then a dark cloud swept over him. ‘You’re going to do it?’