‘Go for it.’
He went to the kitchen for another glass. Ali picked up the bottle and poured first into his glass, then into hers. Then she raised her glass in a sarcastic salute. ‘Cheers.’
They drank together, side by side, not speaking. When they had finished, Ali stood up and held her hand out to him. He took it and she led him to their bedroom without a word. She didn’t turn on the light, but pushed him down onto the bed and unbuttoned his trousers. Bewildered, but aroused despite himself, Tom watched as she slipped her underwear down and climbed astride him. He tried to touch her, tried to kiss her. Her body was rigid as she lowered herself onto him, and Tom gave an involuntary groan of pleasure. She rode him hard, relentlessly, her eyes squeezed shut, her fingernails digging into his chest. Tom was torn between desire and dismay.
‘Ali, look at me. Please. Please look at me.’
But she just rocked faster, each angry thrust feeling like a punishment.
‘Ali,’ Tom pleaded. ‘Ali, I love you.’
The bed creaked in protest and the pressure built up inside Tom. He grasped her waist and cried out as he came. Ali lifted herself off him and went straight to the bathroom without a word.
Tom stared after her, misery welling up inside him. Somehow she’d managed to turn something that had always been so loving, so passionate, into something that felt a lot like an act of hate.
Before
‘I’m pregnant.’
Tom had been longing to hear those words for so long his heart wouldn’t allow him to believe them. He turned away from the coffee machine where he’d been making their morning coffees. ‘Are you serious?’
Ali thrust the pregnancy test at him. ‘Yes! We’re having a baby.’
He grabbed it from her. No need to hold this one up to the light to make out the result, like they had for the last two pregnancies. The two lines were strong and dark. Tom pulled her to him and kissed her fiercely. ‘I love you. I love you!’
She laughed into his mouth and kissed him back with her old fervour, dampened after the long months of trying to conceive. Then she stepped over to the new calendar hanging above the bench, opened it up and uncapped a red marker.
‘She’s due on the first of September. The first day of spring.’ She drew a ring around the date with a flourish.
Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘She?’
‘I’ve already decided. It’s going to be a girl.’
He grinned. ‘Sounds good to me.’
When he’d finished making their coffees, they moved over to the couch and Tom lifted Ali’s singlet to rest his head on her belly, caressing her bare skin. ‘Can you hear me, little one? I’m your dad.’ He turned his head to rest his other cheek on her belly so he could see her face. ‘I can’t believe there’s a baby in there.’
Ali laughed, her fingers in his hair. ‘It’d only be the size of a poppy seed.’
But it is a baby, Tom thought. Our baby.
Tom
It was eight thirty by the time Tom pulled into the garage and killed the engine. It wasn’t just his never-ending workload that kept him at work later and later every day. Ever since Ali’s blowup at the journalist and the weird angry sex earlier that week, she had barely looked at him. He should’ve stopped her, held her, talked to her, but he’d been so fucking turned on when she’d pushed him down on the bed that he’d ignored the little warning signal in his head. And now she couldn’t even stand to be in the same room as him.
All the downlights were on in the living room, flooding the area with white light. An empty wine bottle sat on the counter, a splash of red wine beside it. Tom’s stomach felt hollow. The stem of a wine glass sat upright in the sink, the remainder shattered around it. Ali was nowhere to be seen.
Panic flooded through Tom. He rushed up the hallway to their bedroom, calling her name, but she wasn’t there either. He checked the ensuite. The study. The main bathroom. The back garden. The alfresco dining area off the side of the house. He doubled back to the small lounge room adjacent to the front door. He even looked in the laundry.
Tom tried to quell the fear that threatened to overwhelm him. Something was wrong. He snatched up his phone and called her, but it went straight to her voicemail.
It was then that he noticed the door to Elizabeth’s room was slightly ajar. Neither of them had been able to bear looking in that room since the day they’d come home from the hospital.
Tom steeled himself as he pushed open the door. Ali lay on her side in the middle of the room, one arm above her head, the other trailing on the floor by her side. Tom’s heart leapt with fear at the patch of dark red on the carpet, but then he saw the tipped over wine bottle that lay beside her, half its contents soaked into the carpet, the other half, Tom guessed, already drunk. She was asleep, her lips puffing out with every breath with a soft puh.
Relief competed with anger. He knew he should get her up, help her to bed, be there for her as he had for the last two and a half months. But he was so tired. So drained of emotion. He felt like Ali had taken on the grief for both of them, had refused to share it, and the effort of acting strong, being the man everyone expected him to be, day after day, was wearing him down.
When he and Ali had got married, he’d thought there was nothing they couldn’t survive together. Theirs was a great love, the kind that blokes like Tom weren’t meant to believe in. But he had believed in it. And now, the tragedy that should have stuck them together even more firmly was pulling them apart. He stared at her, at the wisp of blonde hair that fell across her face as she slept. He still loved her. He knew that much. But it seemed that she had nothing left for him. And he was beginning to wonder whether he had it in him to keep going.
Tom dropped to his knees beside her, and that was when he saw it, lying on the floor near the wall.
A calendar. The first of September ringed in jubilant red marker. The first day of spring, the day they were going to become parents, if Elizabeth had been one of the five per cent of babies who arrived on their due date.
When Ali had drawn that red ring around the arbitrary date, it had been impossible to imagine what life would be like when this day finally came around.
But not this. Never this.
And Tom had gone through the day, thinking it was just like any other. Had worked late to avoid Ali. Had left her to deconstruct the event over and over again, to drink and drink until she passed out. He’d failed her.
‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered. Tears clogged in his throat.
Tom leant over her and lifted her head with one hand. She stirred slightly, but didn’t wake. He slipped his other hand underneath her and gathered her in his arms. As he lifted her from the floor, she opened her eyes slightly, then her arms tightened around his neck. She rested her head on his shoulder. Tom closed his eyes for a moment. Relieved. Guilty at his treacherous thoughts.
He could fix this. They were going to be OK.
Ali
Ali’s head was packed with cotton wool when she woke. She scrubbed her eyes with her fists, trying to bring her vision into focus. Her guts swirled with nausea; her mouth was thick and dry. When she lifted her head, searching for the glass of water she usually left beside the bed, the room tilted at the edges. She groaned and allowed her head to fall back onto the pillow.
She hadn’t intended to drink so much. The first half of the bottle had taken the edge off her pain, but it hadn’t been enough. Maybe if Tom had been there she would’ve kept herself in check, but he’d obviously forgotten about the date. Funny how Tom, who’d always been the sentimental one, had been able to pack away his feelings so effectively. She wasn’t sure whether to be jealous or resentful. After she’d opened the second bottle, she’d sat on the floor of Elizabeth’s room and allowed the relentless desolation to smash her, engulf her, destroy her. She’d kept drinking until her memories became fuzzy, indistinct.
‘Hi.’
Her eyeballs felt like they were encased in gravel as she swivelled her gaze to the doorw
ay where Tom stood, a cup of coffee clasped in his hands. Her stomach turned over. ‘I don’t feel well.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ He took a tentative step into the room. ‘You were passed out on the floor when I got home. I had to carry you to bed.’
His face looked raw, like he’d been crying and hadn’t quite pulled himself together sufficiently to hide it. Shame crept over Ali. ‘I’m sorry.’
He crossed the last few steps and sat down on the edge of the bed. The movement made Ali feel like she was on a boat, and she swallowed carefully. Tom placed the coffee mug on the bedside table with shaking hands. ‘No, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I forgot the date.’
The pain in his eyes split her open. She wanted to reach out for him, but she knew if she moved she’d throw up.
Two tears dropped from his eyes onto the bedspread. ‘What’s happening to us, Ali?’
He didn’t try to touch her. He just looked at her, his eyes filled with a sadness that seemed too deep ever to bridge. She tried to speak, but she couldn’t find the words to answer his question.
‘We used to share everything with each other,’ he went on. ‘How have we got to the point where you’d rather go through that on your own than talk to me?’
With enormous effort, Ali lifted her arm and her hand found his. Relief poured through her when he entwined his fingers with hers. Nausea shifted in her belly, but she forced herself to speak. ‘I don’t want to go on like this. I want to go back to the way things were before. Can we do that?’
‘We can try.’ His grip tightened around her hand. ‘You know, my firm’s twenty-year anniversary party is coming up in a few weeks. I know you hate doing the corporate wife thing, but it’s a big event and it’d mean a lot to me if you’d come with me.’
She made her mouth smile. ‘Of course I’ll come.’
* * *
Three weeks later, Ali stood on the footpath outside Tom’s building, shivering a little in the red cocktail dress she’d changed into before she’d left work. She glanced up towards the huge window on the twentieth floor, behind which his firm’s anniversary party was already in full swing. Tom would be up there, talking to his clients, remembering details about the other partners’ husbands and wives, wondering when she was going to arrive. Ali got out her phone and texted him that she was waiting downstairs.
This was an important night for Tom—it was a great opportunity for him to talk to the right people and build his case to be made an equity partner, and Ali knew she completed his image: together, they were an attractive, ambitious power couple. And right now, she was trying her best to make amends for the last few months.
‘Hey.’
Tom stepped out of the building to join her. His tailored black suit hugged his body in all the right places, his crisp white shirt open at the neck. His face was swarthy with its usual five o’clock shadow. She looked at him, really looked at him. He was so familiar, so delicious. She still loved him. The realisation was accompanied by a flood of relief. ‘Hey. Sorry I’m late.’
He put his arms around her. ‘You look beautiful.’
‘So do you.’
They smiled at one another for a warm, precious moment.
‘Ready to go up?’ Tom said.
‘Yep.’
The lift doors opened straight onto the huge function room with floor-to-ceiling windows. The city of Adelaide sprawled before them. Ali’s eyes found the ribbon of Anzac Highway, already blinking with car headlights as dusk fell, and followed it all the way to the sea, which glistened gold and palest blue under the setting sun. About fifty people stood in small groups around the room, clutching wine glasses and beer bottles and selecting hors d’oeuvres from platters circulated by the catering staff.
Cliff approached them, his suit jacket already discarded, twin sweat patches under his arms. Ali’s stomach clenched in her usual visceral reaction to him as he leant forward and gave her a wet kiss on the cheek.
‘Ali, darling, you look absolutely radiant, as always. Tom, my man.’ He shook Tom’s hand even though they’d probably already had several conversations that day. ‘Can I get you two a drink? Beer, Tom? Bubbles, Ali?’
‘Sure, thanks Cliff,’ Ali said.
Cliff swivelled and gestured to one of the passing catering staff, then grabbed a glass of bubbly and a beer from the tray and handed them to Ali and Tom.
‘Must be thirsty work, trying to get this godawful government re-elected.’ Cliff guffawed. ‘Just joking, love, just joking.’
Ali took a sip from her glass to hide her irritation. Every time she saw Cliff, he’d make some smartarse quip about her job, and every time she’d have to swallow her rage for Tom’s benefit.
Tom’s hand landed on the small of her back. ‘Thanks Cliff.’ He raised his beer bottle to his boss, then turned to Ali. ‘Let’s go and mingle, shall we?’
‘Condescending fucking wanker,’ Ali growled as they walked away. She took another gulp from her glass.
Tom rubbed her back. ‘He doesn’t mean any harm. He thinks he’s being funny.’
Ali sighed. Her patience was already wearing thin and she’d only spoken to one person so far. Her encounter with Cliff had put her in the mood for an argument, but this was Tom’s night. She couldn’t ruin it for him. ‘Sorry. I’ve had a busy day and I’m tired.’ She drained her champagne glass. ‘Let’s get another drink.’
‘I’m not even halfway through mine yet!’ Tom protested.
A waiter came past and Ali exchanged her empty glass for a full one. ‘You had a head start. I’m just catching up.’ She flashed Tom a cheeky smile as she raised the glass to her lips.
One of Tom’s colleagues, his wife in tow, paused to speak to them. ‘Tom! Having a good time?’
The two men shook hands. ‘Absolutely. Ali, do you remember Andrew?’
‘Sure, hi Andrew.’ Ali shook his hand then turned to his wife. ‘Lydia, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, lovely to see you again, Ali.’ She leant in to kiss the air beside Ali’s cheek.
Tom and Andrew launched almost immediately into an animated conversation about the merits of boutique craft beer over its mass-produced, commercial cousins while Ali was left to make small talk with Lydia.
‘What have you been up to today, Ali?’ the other woman asked her.
‘I came straight from work,’ Ali said. ‘It’s been a hectic day, so it’s good to get a chance to unwind.’
‘Oh, I know exactly what you mean! I’ve been ferrying the kids around to their various sporting commitments since the second they finished school this afternoon. It’s exhausting!’
‘I can imagine.’ Ali paused to drink from her glass and collect herself. ‘Are you working at the moment?’
‘I do a couple of mornings a week as a receptionist at a medical clinic while the kids are at school, but I devote most of my time to my most important job: being a parent.’ She took a spring roll from a passing tray and dipped it in the sauce before turning back to Ali. ‘Do you and Tom have any kids?’
‘No.’ Ali tipped her glass back and swallowed the last of its contents. ‘No, we don’t have any kids.’ It was a response she had once enjoyed giving, in a defiant kind of way. She used to pride herself on being different, on busting stereotypes, but now all she wanted was to escape and roll herself into such a tight ball that no words could ever penetrate her armour.
Lydia chewed on her spring roll. ‘Part of me envies you a bit. I mean, I love being a mum and I wouldn’t change it for the world, but oh, to have all that freedom! It must be lovely.’ She nudged her husband’s arm. ‘Andrew, Tom and Ali don’t have any kids. Can you even remember what it was like to just go out to dinner at a moment’s notice?’
Ali’s hand tightened around her champagne glass as Andrew met her eye with an expression that was somewhere between embarrassment and guilt. Tom’s arm encircled her waist. Andrew leant towards his wife and spoke in a low voice, but not so low that Ali couldn’t hear his words.
Lydia’s han
d moved up to her mouth. ‘Oh, Ali. I’m so sorry. I feel terrible for complaining about my life when we’ve been so blessed. I’m truly sorry.’
‘It’s OK.’ Ali moved away from Tom and put her empty glass down on an adjacent table. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to visit the bathroom.’
She held her breath as she crossed the room, willing the other guests not to speak to her. At the far side of the room, she picked up another full glass from the long table against the wall and took it with her into the bathroom. As soon as she’d locked herself in the cubicle she threw her head back and gulped down the whole glass. For a moment she thought she was going to throw up, but after taking a few deep breaths, her hands stopped shaking and her heartbeat slowed.
Fucking Lydia! She represented everything Ali had fought against since she’d watched her own mother fall apart the second Ali’s father died.
She unlocked the cubicle door and washed her hands, leaving her empty glass on the counter beside the sink. When she emerged from the bathroom, she took another glass from the table and looked around the room for Tom.
‘I’m sorry about what Lydia said.’ Tom appeared at her side and put his arm around her. ‘It wasn’t intentional. She apologised again when you were gone.’
Ali fixed a smile on her face. ‘I know it wasn’t intentional. And I’m fine. So who do we talk to next?’
He leant over and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Come and meet John.’ He steered her across the room towards a man with grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard.
‘Ali, this is John Clements, managing partner of Clements & Co, one of the firm’s biggest clients,’ he said. ‘John, this is my wife Ali.’
John extended his hand to Ali. ‘Lovely to meet you, Mrs Caruso.’
Annoyance shot through Ali. ‘It’s O’Hare, actually.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ John said. ‘I can never get used to you modern women.’
‘Modern?’ Ali snorted. ‘Women have been keeping their real names since the seventies, it’s hardly a new thing.’
Misconception Page 12