Misconception

by Rebecca Freeborn

  ‘Well, you’re here now. That matters.’

  They shared a smile over the roof of the car, then ducked their heads to get in. Ali was about to start the engine when Hazel placed a hand on her arm. ‘Hold on. We’re not going anywhere till you’ve called that husband of yours.’

  ‘I’m going to call him tonight,’ Ali said.

  ‘If you wait until tonight, you’ll just come up with some other excuse not to.’

  ‘I will not.’

  ‘He has a right to know, love. He’s the father.’

  Ali glared at her. ‘You choose now to be the responsible parent?’

  ‘Better late than never.’

  Reluctantly, Ali took her phone out of her handbag and her thumb paused over her contacts list. This was it. The moment that would decide whether they would get back together, or whether Ali would become a single mother. She hit her husband’s name, but it went straight to voicemail without ringing.

  ‘Hi Tom,’ she said. ‘It’s me. Could you call me back when you get the chance?’ She hung up. Hazel was watching her. ‘What? His phone wasn’t on.’

  Hazel raised her eyebrows.

  ‘I’m not going to tell him on his voicemail, Hazel. Come on, let’s go.’ Ali put her seatbelt on and started the engine.

  They had just pulled into Ali’s driveway when she turned to face her mother. ‘I am going to tell him.’

  ‘I know you will.’

  Ali looked at her watch. ‘Do you want to go out and grab a late lunch? I’ve got the rest of the day off so we may as well celebrate.’

  Hazel smiled. ‘I’d love to.’

  ‘I’m just going to pop in and go to the loo first.’

  The house was cool and quiet. After she had been to the bathroom, Ali paused to look at the photo of Elizabeth that she’d framed and hung on the wall of the living room. She caressed the bulge of her belly. This new baby deserved a place in the light too. She looked in her handbag for the ultrasound picture and stuck it to the fridge with a magnet. Then she filled a glass of water, drank it down, and went out to where Hazel waited in the car.

  Tom

  When Tom, still seated on the plane after it had landed, listened to Ali’s message, guilt twisted his belly. Her voice was a reminder of his betrayal. He sank forward in his aisle seat and grasped handfuls of his hair. How on earth was he going to tell her? He was a fucking, fucking idiot.

  ‘You all right, mate?’

  Tom looked up, and the bloke sitting next to him gestured at the aisle, where the tightly packed string of passengers had begun to shamble forwards.

  ‘Sorry.’ Tom got to his feet and pulled down his bag from the overhead locker. He joined the throng, shuffling one foot after another until he emerged into the air tunnel and stretched his legs out, overtaking the slower passengers. He glanced at his watch. Five o’clock. Ali would probably be on her way home by now; rather than call her back, he’d go straight there.

  Sir Donald Bradman Drive swarmed with peak-hour traffic, but the city-bound lanes were almost clear. The city’s horizon was broken with dozens of cranes, busting to complete the numerous major projects that seemed to have been on the go forever.

  They detoured around the city, up West Terrace and South Terrace, and then Tom directed the cab driver through the knot of Parkside’s dead-end streets until they reached the house. He swallowed nervously as he got out. Maybe he should have called first. But it was too late to change his mind now. He had to fix this. The chime of the doorbell sounded like it came from far away, not just inside the walls of the house. Tom waited, but no footsteps sounded from the hallway. No clatter of dishes from the kitchen. No background noise from the television. He rang again.

  The longer he waited, the more nervous he became. He should have gone to his parents’ place first rather than just showing up here. She was probably out with her colleagues, celebrating the end of another week. Meeting other men, perhaps. Not that he could blame her, after what he’d done.

  He rang the bell one more time, then fished in the pocket of his trousers. His house keys were still there, on the same ring as the key to his apartment in Walsh Bay. Ali had never asked for them back, and he hadn’t thought to offer them. He let himself in. The house was gloomy with the encroaching twilight. It was strange to be here by himself again. He felt like an intruder.

  ‘Ali?’ he called, just in case she’d been in the shower. But there were no lights on. No sound split the silence. Tom walked down the hallway, placing his feet carefully in an absurd attempt not to make too much noise. The kitchen was clean and perfectly ordered, as it had been the last time he was here. Everything looked the same, except that Ali had taken down the print above the gas fire and replaced it with a photo of Elizabeth. Tears stung his eyes as he looked at it. Ali had told him that she’d got the photos from the hospital, had emailed copies to him, but after hiding his daughter away in his heart for so long, it was strange to see her up there on the wall of their living room. His throat ached with emotion.

  He tore his gaze away and went to the cupboard to get a glass. There was apple juice in the fridge, so he poured himself a glass and drained it in a few gulps. It was only when he had put the juice away that he noticed the black-and-white image on the fridge.

  Tom frowned. He thought Ali had destroyed all the ultrasound pictures, but perhaps she’d missed this one. Discomfort prickled the back of his neck. Something felt wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He removed the magnet and held the picture between his thumb and forefinger. It was obviously from early in the pregnancy: the foetus’s head was disproportionately big, the body still curled like an insect. The smudged, ragged outline of their baby stared back at him: the profile with its perfectly straight nose and round head; the random foot up near the ear; the shadowy umbilical cord disappearing into the background. He couldn’t remember this one, but it all seemed so long ago now.

  The rattle of the garage door vibrated through the house. She was home. Tom stared at the ultrasound image. Something about it still bothered him. He couldn’t make out the white lettering along the top, so he switched on the light as Ali’s key turned in the lock and her footsteps echoed up the hallway towards him. He squinted at the picture.

  Ashford Specialist Centre, it read.

  Tom’s frown deepened. There was a date there too. Today’s date. He looked up as Ali stepped into the living room and stopped abruptly when she saw him. Guilt flashed across her face. Tom’s eyes dropped to where her hand rested on her belly.

  The ultrasound picture slipped from his fingers and fluttered from side to side to the floor, an autumn leaf on a silent breeze.

  Ali

  Ali had been preparing herself to call Tom again when she got home, so it was a shock to see him standing there in the kitchen. Horror pulsed through her. There was no chance to break the news to him gently. The ultrasound picture lay on the floor between them, silent, accusing. Her swollen belly jutted out, proof of her lie.

  She watched as Tom’s mouth opened and closed, as if trying to speak. He swallowed, tried again. ‘Is it mine?’

  The words, and their implication, hit her hard. ‘Of course it’s yours!’

  ‘There was only that one time—’

  ‘It only takes one time.’ Ali allowed herself a smirk. ‘Besides, it was more than once as I recall.’

  There was no softening of his expression, no relenting. ‘Is that what that night was all about, then? I was just a donor?’

  ‘No!’ Ali was shocked and upset by his tone. ‘I didn’t want… I meant it when I said Elizabeth was the end of the road for me. I didn’t expect this to happen.’

  Tom’s voice shook. ‘If I am the father, then why wouldn’t you tell me?’

  ‘I… I…’ Ali stuttered. Any way she tried to explain it would sound inadequate, cowardly. She paused, took a deep breath. ‘Because it was a natural conception, I assumed I’d miscarry again. I didn’t want to cause you any more stress. I’d caused you so much already
.’

  ‘But you didn’t miscarry.’ Tom’s voice was tight, controlled.

  ‘No,’ Ali admitted. ‘I was going to tell you, but then you accused me of drinking again—’

  ‘So it’s all my fault, is it?’ Tom slapped his hand down on the marble benchtop. ‘And this is my punishment—not telling me about my own baby?’

  ‘It wasn’t like that!’ Ali protested. ‘I wanted to tell you, but you seemed so happy in Sydney. I didn’t want to ruin everything for you.’

  Tom’s jaw worked. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. ‘Happy? I’ve been miserable there without you. I asked you to come to Sydney. More than once. I offered to stay in Adelaide. You knew I wanted to be with you. You knew I wanted another baby.’

  Tom’s words chilled her. One misconception after another had put this distance between them, and now he was staring at her from across the gulf, his eyes full of reproach.

  ‘I’m sorry, Tom,’ she said. ‘If it means anything, I called you today to tell you.’

  Tom shook his head. ‘It doesn’t mean much.’ He brushed past her and walked away up the hallway, his gait rapid, erratic, as if he wanted to get away from her as quickly as possible. The house was dark now as evening crashed down, the way it always seemed to at this time of year.

  Ali started after him. ‘Please don’t go!’

  But it was too late. He had opened the front door and was walking out into the twilight.

  Tom

  Tom woke in an unfamiliar room for the second consecutive day. The air was thin and chilly in Jason and Anthea’s early 1900s villa. He could just make out the faint clanging of the train crossing on Queen Street. He stretched in the double bed as the twins’ laughter seeped under the door of the spare room. He had come straight here last night, and his friends hadn’t asked him to explain his agitation.

  That Ali was pregnant with his child still hadn’t sunk in. That Ali was pregnant with his child and hadn’t told him was inconceivable. How could she not have known he would’ve been back here in a second? How could she have gone along to all the appointments without him? Was she getting in practice for being a single mother? Was that what she wanted?

  Tom sat up and raked his fingers through his hair. He got out of bed and dressed in the clothes he’d been wearing the day before, which he’d thrown on between leaving work and going to the airport. The long-sleeved T-shirt smelt faintly of sweat, but he pulled it on anyway and went to the bathroom to splash water on his face. The smell of frying bacon wafted out from the kitchen and Tom’s stomach rumbled.

  Anthea smiled up at him from behind the bench when he walked in. Her close-cropped hair had grown out into a short style, her frizzy curls beginning to reassert themselves. She’d been in remission for two months now, and she glowed with the kind of health that shone from someone who’d seen the edge and come back from it. Jason was facing the stove, tending to the sizzling bacon. Lily and Caroline sat side by side on the couch, watching cartoons.

  ‘How did you sleep?’ Anthea poured a tall glass of orange juice and pushed it towards him.

  ‘Not too badly,’ Tom said. ‘Once I finally got to sleep.’

  She gave him a sympathetic smile. Tom was relieved that she didn’t push him to find out what had happened. He couldn’t bear the idea of admitting the truth right now.

  Jason switched off the gas and piled the waiting plate high with bacon, then gestured at it with a grin. ‘Breakfast of champions.’

  Tom laughed. ‘It’s been a while since I’ve had bacon for breakfast. Thanks guys.’

  Anthea buttered a stack of toast and called the girls over. They had all just sat down at the table when the doorbell rang. Jason and Anthea exchanged glances.

  ‘I’ll get it,’ Jason said.

  Tom was forking a combination of toast, egg and bacon into his mouth when Jason returned, Ali following a few paces behind. She looked tired and nervous. The food turned to cardboard in Tom’s mouth.

  ‘Ali, hi!’ Anthea said. Then her gaze dropped to Ali’s waistline and her mouth fell open. ‘Oh.’

  Ali looked even more embarrassed. ‘Sorry for dropping in like this.’ Her eyes sought out Tom’s. ‘Could we talk?’

  Tom nodded and rose from the table, chewing slowly. He walked to the screen door without a word, not looking back to see whether she followed. The morning was cold, and Tom crossed his arms over his chest as Ali closed the door behind her.

  ‘I wanted to… explain,’ she began.

  Tom dug his fingernails into his upper arms. ‘How exactly do you plan to explain this? Even if you didn’t want me to be involved, I have a right to know about my own child, don’t I?’

  Ali chewed her lower lip. ‘Of course you do. I don’t know what I was—’

  Tom’s phone began to ring from the back pocket of his jeans, and he took it out. He paused, looking up at Ali as it rang.

  ‘Answer it,’ she said.

  He glanced at the screen. It was Peter, one of the other partners from work. He was tempted to reject the call, but he’d taken off to Adelaide with no notice and it could be something important.

  ‘Hey Pete,’ he said.

  ‘Caruso!’ Tom held the phone away from his ear as Pete’s booming voice echoed out. ‘You pick up the other night, mate? I take back what I said about stuffy Adelaidians—’

  Tom hung up. He had the urge to fling the phone from him, or to take Ali into his arms, but he just stood there, helpless, watching as her face crumpled before his eyes.

  ‘Is it true?’ she said at last.

  He hesitated. ‘It wasn’t like that.’

  ‘Then what was it like?’ Ali’s face twisted. ‘Did you fuck her?’

  Tom clenched his jaw, closed his eyes. ‘We didn’t have sex. But I spent the night with her.’

  A strangled sob tore from her throat. Tom opened his eyes to look into hers, naked with hurt and full of all the recriminations Tom had hurled at himself yesterday but had somehow forgotten in his own self-righteous anger.

  ‘I didn’t know you were…’ He stretched a hand out as if to touch her, then let it fall back to his side. ‘I thought…’

  A brittle laugh forced its way from Ali’s lips. ‘So if I’d told you I was pregnant you wouldn’t have gone home with someone else?’

  ‘That’s not what I meant!’ Tom took a step towards her, but she backed away.

  ‘Were you going to tell me at all?’ Her voice shook.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Tom said. ‘I hate myself for what I did. But I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

  ‘But if you went home with her, you obviously planned to sleep with her. You must have done…’ Ali pressed her eyes closed ‘…other things.’

  Tom moved forward again, sure that if he could just touch her, everything would be OK. ‘Please, Ali… we’ve both made mistakes. Can we start again?’

  She stepped around him to the sliding door, shaking her head. ‘I can’t.’

  He reached out for her, but she dodged his hand and ran through the dining room, past the shocked faces of Jason, Anthea and the girls, a muffled ‘Sorry!’ coming from behind the hand that covered her mouth.

  Before

  Tom’s arm grew heavier over Ali’s body. She watched his face with its heavy sprinkling of stubble as it relaxed into sleep. With her previous lovers, she’d be itching for the first opportunity to shrug off their arm after sex, so she could either go back to being productive or get some sleep herself.

  But it was different with Tom. Had been from the first day they’d been together. He had a calming effect on her. She liked who she was when she was with him: still driven, still independent, still herself in every way, but with the sharp edges sanded down. He didn’t try to control her. He didn’t try to change her. He tried to make her see herself the way he did, and she’d started to like what she saw.

  Lethargy seeped into her limbs and she found herself relaxing. She lifted a hand to touch his
face.

  ‘I want to be with you forever, Tom Caruso.’ The words dropped, unbidden, from her lips, as she bent to kiss his forehead. When she drew back, she could have sworn there was the ghost of a smile on his face. She settled back down beside him and allowed the heat of his body to pull her into sleep.

  Tom

  Tom had been trying to talk himself into calling Ali all week, and now he sat at his desk, thinking. He and Ali had both forged separate lives. It might be too late to go back to what they’d once had, but she carried his child and he had to do something, whether she wanted him to or not.

  He picked up the phone and called the one person he knew he could rely on, then he turned to his computer, opened a new document and began to type. Emails pinged into his inbox, but he ignored them. When he was finished, he sent the document to the printer that sat on the filing cabinet against the wall. He folded the paper twice, slipped it into an envelope and went out to his assistant.

  ‘Frieda, could you get me five minutes with Ethan Grange?’

  She gave him a curious look, but picked up the phone immediately. ‘Sure.’

  Once he’d done this, there would be no going back. He thought of Ali again, of how she had looked in that moment before she’d seen him in their kitchen, her relaxed and happy expression, her hand resting on the bulge of the baby.

  Their baby.

  Ali

  Hazel called her every day, but Ali rejected the calls, unable to face the prospect of telling her what had happened with Tom. She could still barely believe it herself. Even though they were separated, she’d never imagined he’d be pursuing other women already.

  She allowed the anger to balloon inside her, fuel her. She avoided talking to anyone who might force her to think about her own role in this mess. And deep down, she knew she had a big role. She was the one who had shut down his attempts to get her to join him in Sydney. She had closed herself off, just like Hazel had warned her against.