‘I love you so much,’ he whispered, rolling on top of her and kissing her neck. His hand moved down her stomach, the stomach that had so recently held life, but was now slack and spongy. ‘You’re so perfect.’
She’s so perfect.
Fluoro lights overhead, stark and emotionless. The insubstantial weight of the baby in her arms. Tom’s fingers stroking the tiny head. The fear, the pain, lurking inside her, waiting to be unleashed. She was suffocating under Tom’s weight.
‘Stop!’ She pushed at Tom’s chest. ‘Tom, stop. I can’t.’
Tom retreated instantly, raising himself on one elbow. His eyes brimmed with alarm. ‘Are you OK?’
Ali tried to slow her breathing. ‘Sorry. I just… I’m fine. I’m going to get up.’
Tom took her hand as she stood up and she paused, resisting the urge to break away from the contact.
‘I’m sorry, I thought… I didn’t mean to push you.’
‘It’s not your fault, it’s mine. I’m not ready. Sorry.’
Tom squeezed her hand. ‘You’ve got nothing to apologise for.’
Desperation to get away clawed at her. She wanted that intimacy back as much as she knew he did… for those few minutes she’d been kissing him, it had felt like coming home. But while those memories paraded through her mind, she couldn’t bear it, might never be able to bear it.
* * *
Helen was already sitting at their usual table when Ali rushed into the cafe on Monday morning.
‘Sorry I’m late!’
Helen smiled. ‘We’ve been catching up every week for years and you’ve been late every time. I’ve ordered your coffee.’
Neither of them mentioned the fact that they hadn’t had their regular coffee debrief for six weeks.
‘So, Dixon’s been called before the ICAC?’ Helen’s eyes sparkled.
Ali put a warning finger to her lips before glancing around the cafe to make sure they hadn’t been overheard. Adelaide being Adelaide, it wouldn’t be unusual to find an opportunistic journo at the next table, hoping to get a scoop. ‘Is this the worst-kept secret in the government?’
The South Australian ICAC, unlike its eastern states counterparts, conducted closed investigations with a strict no-media rule.
Helen laughed. ‘Think he’ll be able to talk his way out of this one?’
‘Wouldn’t put it past him,’ Ali said.
Before she could continue, the waiter brought their coffees to the table. As she placed Ali’s latte before her, some of the coffee tipped over the edge of the glass and slopped into the saucer.
‘Oh, I’m sorry!’ the young woman said. ‘Do you want me to bring you another one?’
‘Of course not,’ Ali said. ‘It’s fine.’
‘I’ll just clean it up for you.’ The waiter reached into the front pocket of her black apron, drew out a tea towel and lifted the glass to soak up the spilt coffee beneath.
‘It’s fine, really,’ Ali protested. ‘I can do it.’
‘There we go!’ The waiter set down the coffee with a flourish of her tea towel, which caught the glass handle and tipped the whole thing straight into Ali’s lap.
‘Shit!’ Ali sprang to her feet as hot coffee immediately soaked through her skirt to her legs.
‘Oh my god, are you OK?’ the waiter cried.
Ali lifted the bottom of her skirt to inspect her bare legs. The sting was already beginning to subside. She wasn’t burnt, but she was pissed off. ‘That’s going to stain. It’s a new suit, too. Bloody hell.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ the waiter said. ‘I’ll bring you another coffee. On the house.’
‘And that’ll make up for the dry-cleaning bill and smelling like a coffee machine for the rest of the day, will it?’ To Ali’s horror, tears sprang to her eyes.
‘I’m so sorry,’ the waiter repeated. ‘It’s my first day. I was nervous. I know that’s not an excuse.’
Helen handed Ali a stack of napkins from the dispenser on the table. ‘Thank you, another coffee would be great.’
When the embarrassed waiter had disappeared, Ali dared to meet Helen’s eyes, and her friend asked the dreaded, predictable question. ‘How are you doing, Ali?’
Ali swabbed at the spreading coffee stain on her skirt. ‘I’m annoyed. I’m going to have to go home and change now.’
‘That’s not what I meant.’
‘I know. I don’t want to talk about it.’
‘Of course you don’t.’ Helen held her coffee cup between both hands. ‘I don’t know if I ever told you this, but when Sarah and I had to go and live in Melbourne for five months before this state changed its backward fucking IVF laws, she actually got pregnant on the first go. We were on the verge of coming home when she lost the baby. I know it doesn’t compare to what you’ve been through, but after having to leave our own home to have a kid just because we’re not the traditional family unit, it was the fucking pits. But we got there in the end, and so will you. Maybe one day you’ll have your own little Oscar, and all this will seem like a long-ago nightmare.’
Ali was silent. She didn’t want her own little Oscar. She wanted Elizabeth. Why did everyone assume she could be replaced, as if she were a defective toaster?
‘Sorry,’ Helen said. ‘I know you said you didn’t want to talk about it. I hope you’re seeing a shrink, at least?’
Ali shook her head. ‘I don’t need a shrink.’
Helen gave her a sympathetic smile, but didn’t press her further. The waiter brought out a fresh coffee along with a complimentary lunch voucher and Helen tried to resume the conversation about Dixon, but Ali drained her coffee and stood up. ‘I’d better go, sorry. I have to get home and change my clothes.’
Helen followed suit. ‘Try again next week?’
‘How about drinks on Friday night instead?’ Ali suggested once they were outside the cafe. ‘We’ve got some catching up to do.’
Helen agreed, and Ali set off up Pirie Street to find a cab. The breeze blew her cold, sodden skirt against her legs.
She hailed a cab and slid into the back seat. The driver pulled out from the kerb, then stopped abruptly at the zebra crossing near the cascading green wall pillars of the Adelaide City Council chambers. A steady stream of pedestrians passed in front of the cab and Ali followed their progress with detached interest. Were they happy? Did each of them carry a loss in their heart, like she did? Did that empty hole close up over time, or did it remain within them forever?
* * *
When Ali walked into the Union on Friday evening, Helen hadn’t arrived yet, so she pulled up a stool at the bar and ordered two espresso martinis.
‘Good day?’ asked the girl behind the bar. She was in her early twenties and wore a white T-shirt rolled up to her shoulders, exposing intricate, swirling tattoos down both arms.
‘It was, actually.’
Ali had been insanely busy, but in that adrenalin-pumping, deadline-smashing way that always made her feel great. And Geoff had praised her for a media response she’d prepared for a particularly curly question from a journo, and the warm buzz of his approval still hadn’t worn off. She took a mouthful of her drink and smiled as the rich, bittersweet liquid glided smoothly down her throat.
‘Martinis? I like your thinking.’ Helen slid onto the adjacent stool. Her dark hair, pulled back in a knot, was misted with light rain and already beginning to frizz.
Ali pushed the other martini towards her friend and held up her own. ‘Cheers.’ They clinked their glasses together, and Ali raised the drink to her lips again.
‘You’re very chipper this evening,’ Helen said.
A tremor of irritation vibrated through Ali, but she banished it with another sip of her drink. She had to stop assuming people were judging her all the time. ‘You’d be chipper too if you’d just nailed a media response the way I did.’
Helen’s eyebrows rose. ‘Dixon again?’
‘Of course Dixon again.’ Ali leant closer to Helen, lowering her voice. ‘Do
n’t tell anyone, but we think someone in the department is leaking to the media. The journo knew details he couldn’t possibly have found out without a source close to Dixon. But you should’ve seen the response I sent. It was a work of art, my friend.’ She tipped her head back and swallowed the last of her drink. ‘A work of art.’
‘Well, it sounds like another drink is in order.’ Helen eyed Ali’s empty glass and gestured to the bartender. ‘Two more, please.’
‘You’re not even halfway through yours yet.’ Ali pointed to Helen’s drink. ‘I could’ve waited.’
Helen scoffed. ‘Ali O’Hare without a drink in her hand? You’d start getting the shakes after two minutes.’
‘I’m not like that!’ Ali snapped.
‘Hey, I was just kidding,’ Helen said. ‘Anyway, you know I could catch up to you any day.’
Ali forced down her irritation and gave her an arch smile. ‘I may be a bit rusty, but I’ve always been able to outdrink you.’
‘Is that a challenge, O’Hare?’
‘You up for it?’
‘Hell yes.’ Their drinks arrived and they clinked glasses again. ‘So do we know who the leaker might be?’
‘No idea,’ Ali said. ‘Could be anyone from the admin officer who made the travel bookings to his highest advisers. Whoever it is, you’ve gotta admire their balls, trying to bring down a government-appointed CE like that.’
‘Public servants are still a protected species,’ Helen said. ‘Whoever it is wouldn’t lose their salary even if Dixon caught them.’
‘Maybe not, but you think there aren’t ways to get rid of someone if they make life difficult enough for those at the top?’
Helen snorted. ‘You mean the redeployment pool? Though it does give a different meaning to the term “departure lounge”, doesn’t it? “If you’d like to come with me, Ms Rogers, I’ll just show you through to the… whoops, who put that trapdoor there?”’
Helen laughed, but Ali barely heard her over the sonographer’s voice that was suddenly playing in stereo inside her mind.
If you’d like to come with me, we’ll go to the ultrasound room.
No no no. No. Ali resisted the urge to clamp her hands over her ears or her eyes to shut out the memories. She clenched her fists and held her breath as Helen took another sip of her drink, oblivious to the battle going on inside Ali’s head. This could not keep happening. She was going to beat these flashbacks into oblivion. The bartender passed by them again and Ali raised her hand to get her attention. ‘Two shots of vodka, please.’
Helen gave her a surprised look. ‘Shots already?’
‘Thought you were going to keep up?’
When the bartender set their shots down in front of them, Ali threw hers back first. It felt like fire as it burned down her throat, but the effect was immediate. Warmth spread through her stomach and up to her chest, banishing the desperate fear. It felt like she was floating above the bar stool. Helen paused for a second then followed suit, slamming the shot glass down on the bar, half laughing, half coughing. Their eyes met and Ali chuckled with glee.
Helen wagged a finger at her. ‘You, Alison O’Hare, are an evil woman.’
‘Ah, but I bet you haven’t had this much fun in a while, have you?’
‘True.’
The combination of caffeine and alcohol was potent, and it wasn’t long before Ali’s feet were tapping on the rung of the bar stool. ‘We should go somewhere and dance.’
Helen laughed. ‘Christ, Ali, we’re in our forties. I don’t even know where to go to dance anymore.’
Ali shrugged. ‘Me neither.’ She gestured to the tattooed bartender. ‘Where do the cool kids go to dance these days?’
The bartender leant her elbows on the bar. ‘What kind of music are you into?’
Ali grinned. ‘If I told you, I’d be showing my age. Anything is fine, just not teeny-bopper crap.’
Helen elbowed her. ‘I think you just showed your age, dude.’
The bartender laughed. ‘If you don’t mind a bit of a walk, Mr Goodbar down on Union Street has a retro eighties night every Friday. Apparently the DJ used to play at this grungy cult nightclub call Stix back in the nineties.’
Ali whooped. ‘Oh my god, I used to go there every weekend during my goth period!’
Helen raised her eyebrows. ‘You had a goth period? I would’ve liked to see that.’
‘Well, I wore a lot of black clothes and eyeliner and Doc Martens, and practised looking melancholy.’ Ali smiled at the memory. ‘But the music was amazing. We have to go to this place!’
Helen leant towards the bartender and jerked a thumb at Ali. ‘You should see this one dance. She looks just like Elaine Benes.’
‘Hey, I do not!’ Ali protested with a laugh.
The bartender looked confused. ‘Who’s Elaine Benes?’
But Ali and Helen just laughed harder.
Before
Tom was alarmed when Jason and Anthea arrived at their house, smiles stretched over their wan faces, eyes worried. He’d known something was wrong when Jason had called him, and he knew Ali sensed it now by the way she touched Anthea’s arm and led the girls over to the coffee table, where she’d set up sheets of butcher’s paper and crayons.
‘Dude, beer?’ he asked Jason.
His friend nodded, avoiding his eyes. The children were already absorbed in their drawing.
Ali followed Tom into the kitchen. ‘Anthea, I’m putting the kettle on. Would you like a cup of tea?’
‘Actually, I’ll have a beer, too, if that’s OK?’ Anthea’s voice was shaky.
‘Sure.’ Ali retrieved another beer from the fridge and handed it to her.
Jason’s brow furrowed at his wife. ‘Do you think you should?’
Anthea took a swig of the beer. ‘Why not? It can’t make things any worse.’
Tom glanced at Jason. He looked ravaged, broken. ‘Guys, is everything OK?’
Anthea laughed, the sound erupting from her in a rough bark. ‘Not really, no.’
‘Honey…’ Jason said.
A long look passed between husband and wife. Tom felt like he was looking into their bedroom window, and his gaze dropped to his feet. All of them were still grouped around the kitchen bench, as if they were in a pub. Anthea gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Oh Jason, what’s the point in keeping it a secret?’
Jason glanced sideways at the children, who were still busily drawing on the butcher’s paper and arguing over whose turn it was to use the pink crayon. The kettle came to a boil and switched off automatically, but no one moved.
‘I have breast cancer,’ Anthea said quietly.
There was a barely discernible intake of breath from Ali, followed by an astounded silence. Tom’s throat was woollen, fuzzy. He had no words.
‘They found it early, so the prognosis is good,’ Anthea went on in a level voice. ‘I’m having a mastectomy next week, then I’ll start chemo as soon as I’ve recovered from the surgery. We haven’t told the girls yet, but they’re going to start asking questions soon. Especially once my hair starts falling out.’ Her voice broke on the last few words.
Out of the corner of his eye, Tom saw Ali’s hand covering her mouth. ‘Jesus, Anthea,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry.’
Ali went to Anthea and hugged her, her body angled sideways so her pregnant belly didn’t get in the way.
‘I’m OK,’ Anthea said when they parted. ‘I just need to stay strong for the kids. And for Jason.’ She linked her fingers with her husband’s. ‘We’ll get through this together.’
Tom saw Jason’s knuckles turn white from the fierceness of his grip on his wife’s hand.
Tom
Tom tried to curb his irritation as he put a bottle of white wine in the fridge. Ali had been in the bedroom getting ready for Jason and Anthea’s arrival for almost an hour while he had tidied the living room, cleaned the kitchen and stocked the fridge.
She hadn’t got home until two that morning and Tom had waited up for her, worr
ied because the couple of texts he’d sent her earlier in the evening had gone unanswered. Then she’d cracked it at him for trying to control her and they’d had a completely irrational argument, interrupted only by Ali running to the toilet to throw up.
Then today Tom had spent the entire afternoon preparing food for dinner that night while Ali lay on the couch moaning, even though this whole thing had been her idea in the first place. She’d gone out drinking (as if there were anything to celebrate!) without even thinking about the consequences. The resentment clung to Tom, leaving a sour taste in his mouth.
Ali finally appeared, dressed in a peacock blue shift dress that skimmed over her still-protruding belly, matching earrings and strappy sandals. The greyish pallor from her hangover had left her face. She came over to him and put her arms around his waist, and something within Tom shifted. She looked almost like herself again, as long as he didn’t search her eyes for the sadness he knew still lingered there. His annoyance dissolved. ‘You look great.’
‘Thanks.’ She gave him a little smile. ‘Sorry I’ve been so useless today. Thanks for doing everything.’
‘That’s OK. I put a white in the fridge—want a glass?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’ll be drinking again for a while. I haven’t been this hungover in a long time.’ The doorbell rang and Ali jumped as if she’d been stung. She glanced towards the hallway. ‘Want me to get it?’
Tom gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I’ll go. Can you make the dressing for the salad?’
He whistled cheerfully as he headed up the hallway, but when he heard their voices, his rising spirits crashed down again. He opened the door to two girls dressed in matching Frozen costumes, wriggling with excitement. They weren’t supposed to be here. Jason had told him they’d arranged a babysitter for the evening. This could destroy any fragile pretence of normalcy he and Ali had been so careful to construct.
‘Hi girls,’ he said, but they brushed past him before he could stop them and raced, shrieking, up the hallway. Tom wanted to run after them, restrain them before they reached the living room, beg them to curb their childish enthusiasm before it bruised Ali, but he knew it was already too late.
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