Jason’s face was apologetic as he handed Tom a sixpack of beer. ‘Sorry, our babysitter cancelled at the last minute. I hope you don’t mind us bringing them along, but we figured it would be ruder if we didn’t come at all.’
‘Of course not.’ Tom feigned a nonchalance he didn’t feel. All he could think about was Ali.
‘Are you sure, Tom?’ Anthea stepped forward to hug him, and he tried not to show his shock at how thin she had become in the weeks since he’d last seen her. ‘We don’t want to cause Ali any pain. Or you.’
Tom hesitated. ‘I’m sure she’ll be fine. She’s been doing really well lately.’
Anthea and Jason exchanged glances. ‘We shouldn’t have come,’ Anthea said. ‘It’s too much for Ali.’
‘Really, it’s fine,’ Tom protested. ‘Come in.’
When they reached the living room, Tom was surprised to find Ali kneeling in front of Lily and Caroline, smiling as they gave her a noisy, truncated explanation of the plot of Frozen. If he looked closer he knew he’d see the quiet desperation in her eyes, but instead he plucked two bottles of beer out of the sixpack and handed one to Jason.
‘Ali, you look great!’ Anthea gave Ali a warm hug when she got to her feet. ‘I’m so sorry about bringing the children… our babysitter has the flu. I’ve brought activities for them, so hopefully they won’t be under our feet.’
Ali smiled. ‘It’s OK.’
‘Girls! Come over here and do some colouring-in while Daddy and I talk to our friends.’ Anthea shepherded Lily and Caroline over to the coffee table, and took out two colouring books and a large pencil case filled with textas.
Tom twisted the cap off his beer and took a swig. He watched Ali as she turned away from Anthea and the girls, and opened the fridge. She seemed completely unaffected by the presence of the children. He, on the other hand, couldn’t stop his gaze flicking over to them as they giggled together. He couldn’t stop studying their plaited hair, their matching silvery-blue dresses, the plastic tiaras on their heads. Is this what Elizabeth might have been like? Would these girls have played with her like little miniature mothers? Would he ever have managed to manipulate his own fingers into plaiting her hair? What kind of father would he have been? The wound of her loss gaped open inside him, and he swallowed his tears before they reached his eyes.
‘Would you like a glass of sauv blanc, Anthea?’ Ali asked from behind the bench.
‘No thanks, Ali,’ Anthea said. ‘I’m not doing so much drinking these days.’
Tom forced his gaze back to the adults to see Ali pouring herself a generous glass of wine. So much for not drinking tonight. But he could tell by the way her hand trembled around the glass that her cool indifference was just an act. He moved forward and put his arm around her waist.
‘How are you feeling, Anthea?’ Ali said. ‘Tom said you were in hospital again last week?’
Anthea grimaced. ‘I’m exhausted and occasionally violently ill, but I’m doing better this week. Until the next cycle, anyway.’
Tom gestured to the closest armchair. ‘You should sit down and relax. Can I get you a drink? Soda water, juice?’
Anthea gave him a grateful smile. ‘Juice would be great, thanks Tom.’
Tom made small talk with Jason and Anthea while Ali busied herself in the kitchen, checking and re-checking the food he’d already prepared and setting the table. When she dropped the entire bundle of knives and forks on the floor with a metallic clatter, everyone jumped with fright, and Tom noticed that half the bottle of sauvignon blanc was already gone. Concern flickered through him as he went to help her.
‘Are you OK?’ he asked in a low voice as they crouched together on the floor, gathering up the cutlery.
‘I’m fine. It was just an accident.’ She straightened. ‘Everyone ready to eat?’
Anthea chose the seat next to Ali’s as Tom brought the platters of food to the table. For a few minutes, everyone was silent as they served themselves. As soon as Anthea had doled out small helpings to the children, they wrinkled their noses at the food and announced that it ‘tasted funny’.
‘You haven’t even tried it yet, how could you know whether it tastes funny?’ Jason looked exasperated and Tom guessed this must be a regular occurrence in their home.
Lily rolled her eyes. ‘OK, it looks funny, then.’
‘Lily!’ Anthea said. ‘Don’t be rude!’
Ali began to stand. ‘How about I make you girls some pasta? Do you like spaghetti?’
‘Ali, no!’ Anthea protested. ‘That’s not necessary. You’ve done enough, preparing all this delicious food.’
‘But they must be hungry? It won’t take long.’
Tom was unreasonably annoyed that Ali didn’t correct Anthea about who exactly had prepared the food.
‘Actually, we gave them dinner before we left,’ Jason admitted. ‘They’re fussy little buggers so we have to hedge our bets.’
Anthea put a hand on Ali’s arm. ‘Sit down, Ali. Enjoy your dinner. The girls are fine.’
Ali lowered herself back into her seat and picked up her wine glass again. Tom noticed she had hardly any food on her plate.
‘How are you doing, Ali?’ Anthea said. ‘Are you back at work yet?’
Ali gave Anthea a surprised look. ‘Oh, of course. The election’s coming, we’re flat out.’
Anthea looked appalled. ‘How awful! You lost a child—you shouldn’t have to go back to work so soon just because of an election.’
Ali’s hand tightened around the stem of her wine glass, and Tom saw her nostrils flare as she breathed in. ‘I wanted to go back. It was my decision.’
Anthea didn’t look convinced. ‘I guess keeping busy is a good thing. But you suffered a huge loss, and you need time to process that. And I hope this husband of yours is looking after you.’
‘We’re looking after each other—’ Tom began, but Ali interjected.
‘I don’t need looking after!’ Her voice was fierce, her face flushed. ‘I’m fine. We’re fine.’
She tipped her head back to drain her wine, then grabbed the bottle and poured out the last of it. Tom frowned. He’d never seen her look so panicked. He was about to go to her when Anthea began rubbing Ali’s back, her face soft, seemingly unaffected by Ali’s outburst. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.’
‘I’m not upset.’ Ali spoke through clenched teeth. ‘Let’s just enjoy our dinner, as you said.’
Anthea didn’t remove her hand from Ali’s back. ‘It’s OK if you don’t want to talk about it now. But please know we’re here for you if you ever need us.’
Ali set her glass down hard on the table, and some of the wine leapt out over the rim. ‘Will you let it go, Anthea? I’m not dying, for god’s sake.’
Tom’s heart squeezed as Anthea’s face turned pink and her hand dropped back to her side. His concern for Ali hardened into resentment. Anthea didn’t deserve that kind of treatment. He knew Ali could be acerbic on occasion, but this was harsh even for her. He glared at his wife as an awkward silence stretched out. Even Lily and Caroline had stopped chattering and were staring at her.
‘Shit, Anthea, I’m sorry,’ Ali said in a rush. ‘That was a stupid thing to say.’
Anthea gave a wan smile. ‘It’s OK, Ali. I’m not dying either, so it’s fine.’
But it wasn’t fine; Tom could tell by the way Anthea was now focusing on her plate. He was furious with Ali, but it was hardly the time to upbraid her for her behaviour, not after she’d already apologised.
Caroline pointed her finger at Ali, eyes shining with excitement. ‘Mummy, she said shit!’
Everyone laughed a little, but the pall of awkwardness remained over the table as they ate. The evening didn’t improve much from there. Ali tried to make up for her outburst with excessive friendliness, but ended up drinking too much wine and just sounded foolish. By the time the family made an early exit at nine o’clock, Ali was slurring her words and Tom was livid.
‘I can’t believe
how rude you were to Anthea,’ he said after he’d shut the front door behind them. ‘She was just trying to help you.’
Ali threw her arms wide as she weaved up the hallway. ‘Ah Tom, the conscience of our generation.’
He followed her into the bedroom. ‘Why are you being such a bitch, Ali?’
She rounded on him and almost fell over. ‘I don’t know, Tom. Why are you being such a cunt?’
He narrowed his eyes at her. After years of working in a newsroom, Ali had a colourful vocabulary. It had never bothered Tom, but then she’d never directed it at him like that before, and he wanted to hurt her in return. ‘Fine mother you would’ve been.’
He pretended not to see the way her face collapsed as he turned away from her.
Ali
Ali leant her head against the back seat of the ministerial car as Geoff’s chauffeur drove them out of the city towards the primary school in his western suburbs electorate. Two cracking hangovers in as many days. She’d felt so bloody awful yesterday that she hadn’t even done any washing, and today she was stuck wearing a shirt that was too tight to pull off with her belly still looking the way it did.
She squeezed her eyes shut and ground her fists into her temples. This school visit was the last thing she felt like doing, but it had been her idea and she couldn’t back out now when everyone had finally stopped treating her like damaged goods. And it would boost Geoff’s profile—a tour of the out-of-school-hours care program at the biggest public primary school in his electorate, right on five thirty when the parents were arriving to pick up their children after work, would give him a valuable opportunity to speak to them with both his ministerial and his local MP hats on. It wouldn’t take long. And she would stay in the background, avoid the children altogether.
She opened her eyes and stared out of the window as the commercial buildings that lined the wide arterial road gave way to suburban residential housing. Every now and then her gaze would flit over the pink blossoms of a fruit tree on the verge. It was almost spring. It had been seven weeks since her life had flipped on its head. Part of her was still surprised, in a distant kind of way, that the world had continued after what had happened. Seasons changed. People still went on their European holidays. The election would still go ahead in seven months. Parents still sent their kids to after-school care when they should have been grabbing every possible moment with them because you just never knew when you might have everything taken away from you barrendefectiveuseless.
Ali dug her fingernails into her thighs until it hurt, but she drove them in harder still until the pain cleared the clouds in her mind. She could fight this.
The towering ghost gums on Port Road’s huge median strip were replaced by date palms as they drew closer to Port Adelaide. The chauffeur pulled into the parking space that had been reserved for them with orange traffic cones. Near the door to the front office of the school, Ali spied a young woman in jeans and a T-shirt, her long brown hair tied back in a ponytail, clutching a notebook and pen.
‘The journo’s here,’ she said to Geoff in a low voice as they got out of the car. ‘It’s just a community paper, but she’s new, so she might want to get a scoop on the Dixon story. If she asks you anything, you know what to say, right?’
Geoff obediently recited the line Ali had prepared for him weeks ago. ‘As Mr Dixon has not been charged with any crime, it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to comment on the matter.’
‘Perfect. Then try to steer the conversation towards the great work the OSHC teachers are doing, educating kids while giving families the chance to take the financial pressure off with full-time work.’
‘Got it.’ Geoff gave her a sidelong smile. ‘Sometimes I think you’d make a better politician than me.’
Ali grinned. ‘Never.’
A little thrill ran through her. Geoff didn’t often give out compliments, and this was the second he’d given her since Friday.
As they approached the head office, the young journalist stepped forward to greet them.
‘Good afternoon, Minister,’ she gushed. ‘I’m Maria Coluccio from the Western Messenger.’
‘Geoff Saunders.’ Geoff shook her hand. ‘I believe you’ve already spoken to my media adviser, Alison O’Hare.’
‘Hi, Alison.’ Maria pumped Ali’s hand with enthusiasm, then turned her attention back to Geoff. ‘I hope you don’t mind me tagging along with you today. I was hoping to do a profile on you for our next edition.’
Geoff gave her a warm smile. ‘I’d be honoured.’
Just then, the principal opened the door to the front office. ‘Good afternoon, Minister. Come through, I’ll take you to the OSHC centre.’
They followed her through the front office, back outside and across a large asphalt quadrangle to a little transportable building. OUT OF SCHOOL HOURS CARE danced across the white weatherboard in multicoloured lettering. Ali hung back as Geoff stepped in after the principal, Maria following close behind. The shrill voices and happy laughter of the children sent a stab of pain through her body so strong that the breath was sucked from her lungs, leaving her vacant, her presence a black hole in the cheerful scene.
Half an hour later, it was time to go and the principal was walking them back towards the car park. Maria, notebook in hand, was asking Geoff questions about his weekend hobbies. Ali relaxed. This was clearly going to be a fluff piece.
The formerly quiet car park was now a hive of activity as harried parents piled their kids and their bags into cars. They were right in the middle of the car park when Maria dropped back to walk beside Ali.
‘So, when are you due?’ she asked with a friendly smile.
Ali came to an abrupt halt, a mixture of anguish and embarrassment hardening in her stomach. ‘What?’
Oblivious, Maria turned to face her and nodded at her belly, which poked out in the too-tight shirt. ‘When’s your baby due?’
Hot rage bubbled up inside Ali. All the hurt she had managed to squash down consumed her until all she could see was a red haze of anger. ‘Are you fucking kidding me?’
The young journalist’s face drained of colour as she realised her mistake. She spluttered, a fish flopping on the deck of a boat. ‘I’m sorry. I thought—’
‘You thought what? You thought it’d be appropriate to ask someone you don’t even know that question?’ Ali’s voice grew louder with every word. ‘What kind of journo are you, anyway?’
Maria seemed unable to speak. She just stared at Ali with wide eyes.
‘The thing you have to learn, Maria,’ Ali went on, unable to stop the words that were now cascading from her mouth, ‘is that it’s fucking rude to ask someone such a personal question, especially when they’re not part of the story.’
‘Ali.’ Geoff’s voice was soft in her ear, his hand gentle on her shoulder. ‘Why don’t you get in the car? I’ll join you in a minute.’
Ali realised that her tirade had earned her an audience of curious parents and teachers. Shame swamped her. She’d organised this visit to help Geoff, and she’d just embarrassed him in front of all these people and—horror of horrors—a journalist. She hustled into the car and watched through the tinted windows as Geoff stepped closer to Maria, his head bowed. Tears ran down Ali’s face as Maria’s hand moved up to her mouth and she glanced towards the car.
A minute later, the car door opened and Geoff swung into the seat beside her. She couldn’t look at him.
‘Let’s go, Darren,’ he said to the chauffeur. ‘We’ll be dropping Ali home first.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ Ali whispered as the car pulled out of the car park.
‘I’ve explained your situation to Maria and this won’t go in her story,’ Geoff said. ‘It’s not really the bread and butter of the Messenger anyway. She was mortified at her mistake, if that makes any difference.’
Ali twisted her hands in her lap. She was the one who should be mortified. She had let herself lose control.
‘Ali, I think you should take some time off,�
�� Geoff said tentatively.
‘No!’ Ali cried. ‘I know how this looks, but it was just a slip-up. It won’t happen again.’
‘It’s not just that, Ali. I don’t think you should have to deal with work at a time like this.’
‘Please.’ Ali scrubbed at the tears that were slipping from her eyes. ‘I need this. If I don’t have work, I’ve got nothing.’
The corners of Geoff’s mouth turned upwards slightly in what could have been a smile if he hadn’t looked so sad. ‘I’ll speak to Alex. But there’s no shame in falling apart, Ali. Not after what you’ve been through.’
Tom
Tom found Ali sitting on the couch nursing a large glass of wine when he got home. He raised an eyebrow. ‘Wine again? You’re certainly a glutton for punishment after the weekend.’
‘Get off my back, Tom!’ Ali snapped. ‘I’ve had a fucking shit day.’
Tom was about to bite back when he noticed the rivers of tears that streaked her face. He dropped to his knees before her and took one of her hands in his. ‘What happened? Are you OK?’
He listened as Ali explained what had happened at the school visit, and when she was finished, he squeezed her hand. ‘No one could blame you for your reaction. She’s the one who should’ve known better. She’s an idiot.’
‘There were kids there, too, Tom. Little kids. You were right, I would’ve been an awful mother.’
‘Oh, honey.’ Tom raised himself onto the couch, put her glass on the coffee table and pulled her to him. ‘You know I didn’t mean that.’
She was unyielding in his arms. ‘It doesn’t matter now, does it?’
He held her away from him. ‘Of course it matters. You deserved to be a mother. You would’ve been a great one. You still could be.’
‘No!’ The word exploded out of her. She broke away from him and picked up her wine glass. ‘It’s too late for that.’
Tom glanced at the wine bottle that stood on the coffee table. It was two thirds empty already. ‘Mind if I have a drink with you?’
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