Kelly jutted his chin. “Everyone says I have a ‘way’
with children at the clinic. And before you open your gob, I know fi fteen minute adjustments aren’t the real deal. But I’m not intending to be surrogate ‘Father of the Year’, am I?
Just a friendly, neighbourly, temporary carer—that’s my job description. And, in the end, it’s an infant, Ed! They don’t talk back. They can’t run away. Nicking the car or bringing home jailbait squeezes doesn’t enter the equation. All they do is eat, drink, pee, crap, cry and sleep. Just like my rellies at Christmas.”
Adam extracted a ball lodged in the back netting and approached the service line. “Okay. How about we up the ante, Unkey Kel. Here’s the deal: if I win the next set, you play parent for the next three weeks.”
“How’s that going to work? You gunna hire a kid for me off the internet?”
“Christ, no! Those Romanian orphans have been through enough already! No, I was thinking more along the lines of self-raising parenthood. You could be Daddy to the old three kilo bag of fl our.”
Kelly bounced from foot to foot. “Like they done on
‘Frasier’?”
“In the prisons, too, if I’m not mistaken.”
“So, I don’t have to worry about the eating, drinking, peeing, etcetera. I just have to keep the little fella in sight and intact.”
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“Yes. Much like you at Christmas.”
Kelly nodded. “Well, it’s a tempting offer,” he said, turning his Nike cap backwards, “but unfortunately Lleyton’s back in da house. COME ON!!!”
Adam tossed the ball and pounded out his best serve of the evening—a skidder at the body that the receiver could only fend off into the side netting.
“Papa Lleyton!” he shouted. “That defi nitely has a ring to it!”
*
From: “Tin Lid”
After getting skanked, your friend Kelly is making good on his promise, hey? His voice is bright and chipper and full of ‘coo-coo’
noises. Is raising a bag of fl our his dream?
*
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
No, his dream is still to make the Guinness Book of Records for fl ipping the most beer coasters.
He has made a very positive start to parenthood, however. Attentive, loving. When the red Monaro pulled into the driveway he had Dougie Defi ance (that’s the little snapper’s name) sitting beside him in the front seat, propped up on a couple of phone books, seat belt securely fastened. And when he departed, he only drove a few yards before realizing he’d left the lad on the roof.
Dougie Defi ance.
Quite a striking looking child. Seventies’-style afro wig. Permanent smile. One eye double the size of the other (I think the texta might’ve slipped). With that box-shaped body and a head full of soft, squishy contents, there’s no question he takes after his father. Little wonder he’s so proud.
*
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Maddy placed the phone on the coffee table, stood up on the couch and cheered.
“Guess what, Kiddo!” she said, punting a cushion at the latest character reincarnation on ‘Days Of Our Lives’, “That was Dawn on the phone and she says it’s okay for your mother to start moving around a bit more! How about that?
Fantastic, hey! What’s that? You’re worried I might do too much? Perish the thought! I’m not going to go out and run a marathon now that we’re free. Nuh-uh. The most we’ll be doing is the odd walk. Give you a chance to experience a world other than 150 James Street.”
She stepped down from the couch and noted the date on the ‘Canadian Rockies’ calendar by the fridge.
“We’re going to go shopping tomorrow, Kiddo. And I think we might invite a special guest along.”
Maddy returned to the coffee table, grasped the phone and punched in the number for Carsmair State High School.
*
Adam paused in front of a dilapidated 1920s Queenslander with two restored Valiants in the front yard. Maddy marched several paces on, realised she was alone and backtracked.
“What’s up, guy? Is the pace too hot for you? I’m the one who’s supposed to be out of shape you know.”
Adam removed his Ray-Bans. “Let me get this straight: we’re going to the ‘Pregnancy, Birth and Baby Expo’ at the Convention Centre.”
“That’s what I said, yes.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“And…you asked Jay-Jay to come along.”
“Yes, I did.”
Adam snorted and ran a hand through his sweat-sprinkled hair. “What did she say?”
“She said she’d come. We’re meeting her there around eleven.”
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“Was she surprised to get an invite?”
“Surprised? Hmm…when I told her about it there was a long pause then an awful clatter. I think she might’ve dropped the phone.”
“Is that right?”
“More likely it was just an accident though. Clumsiness goes with the territory of being pregnant.”
“Yeah, well she has been tripping over tongue lately.”
Maddy stretched her calves. “She was quite enthusiastic by the end. She said it’s never too early to start preparing for a baby’s arrival.”
“Indeed.”
The couple resumed walking. ‘Orb Hair’, ‘Hair Today’
and ‘Seattle Hair’ drifted by on the journey down Merthyr Road. With its inordinate proportion of Mediterranean mullets and Gay-Boy tints, Adam imagined New Farm offered more hairdressing salons per head of population than any other suburb in Brisbane, possibly Australia. And right now, trailing his born-again, high-stepping wife, he felt in a position to add one more to that number. True, he barely knew the business end of a blowdryer. But the gossip currently swirling in and around his life could’ve paid the rent for a year.
Or perhaps two.
“Shelley rang today. Wanted to know who our doctor was.”
It was Maddy’s turn to stop. “What did you say to that?”
“I told her straight up—I said we don’t have one. I said we were going with a midwife.”
“What did she say to that?”
“Not much. Nothing negative. I got the impression she wasn’t too thrilled.”
“That’s hardly news is it?” Maddy pulled her shoulders back and strode onward. Adam enlisted a quick jog to catch up. “As far as Michelle’s concerned, the medical expertise of
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the mainstream—the same expertise she will soon begin to acquire—is the only option for Mums-to-be. It has hundreds of years and billions of dollars behind it. It brings countless healthy little babies into the world and rescues countless more from tragedy. It performs miracles on a daily basis. It represents the only true peace of mind. It couldn’t possibly screw up.”
Adam intercepted his wife’s hand. A gentle but insistent squeeze prompted Maddy to halt.
“Shell’s just looking out for you,” he said. “She doesn’t want to cause trouble.”
“I know.”
“I mean, if she knew-”
“I know she doesn’t know, Adam. I know.”
Adam kissed the wedding band that had bound them for better or for worse nine years ago. Engraved onto its golden veneer was a Native American depiction of an eagle—symbol of power and connection to the Great Spirit.
“Maybe it’s time she did know.”
Maddy laughed and scanned her husband from head to toe. “You’re a worry gorgeous, handsome man. All this
‘Wanting to Tell’ business, the pregnancy and now our History. Not usually the stuff of regul
ar blokes, is it?”
“Come on, Mad. You know as well as I do that this would bring things full circle. It would bring closure.”
“It would, Oprah, yes.”
“And I’ve never claimed to be a regular bloke.”
Maddy moved in close, stood on both of Adam’s Converse-sneakered feet, and pinched his cheeks.
“Thank God for that.”
As she headed for the James Street crosswalk, she added:
“I just have to fi nd the right moment.”
It occurred to Adam he’d heard that somewhere before.
*
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Doctors, Dragons and Dougie Defi ance From: “Tin Lid”
Phew! What a day! A thousand ‘Expo’ people (do you call them
‘Exposers’?) offering their help, telling you and Mum about how they’ve got ‘just the thing’ for me. Just the thing to eat. Just the thing to wear. Just the thing to get me laughing. Just the thing to stop me crying. Just the thing to have me learning my ABCs and just the thing to have me accepting the toilet as my pal. All the things to ensure I fulfi ll my ‘most valuable potential’ or some crap like that.
And all for a very special price because Mum’s pregnant and Dad looks like a ‘discerning consumer’ and the warehouse is overstocked and the next shipment from Italy doesn’t arrive for two months.
Right now, a lie down is just the thing for me.
Hey, did your friend give up her secret? I sensed some whispers and murmurs about it. I also heard a booming voice call her name followed by cheers and whistles and pee-in-the-pants laughter.
*
“I need to have a word with you.”
Adam immediately recognised the signs—knotted brow, pinched mouth, monotone speech, hands cuffed behind the back.
The ‘Trance’.
Jenna Grimson descended into The Trance for especially sticky challenges. Adam had witnessed the spectacle twice before; once when she’d been required to teach a Metalwork unit; the second time when railroaded into ‘Hey Big Spender’
at a Vietnamese karaoke bar. And now here it was, once more to the fore, in front of the Nursing Mothers’ Association booth at the ‘Pregnancy, Birth and Baby Expo’.
“There’s a little…situation that you should be aware of.”
Adam glanced at Boyd. Desultory Dad had his own trance going, eyes glued to a nearby poster. It displayed a pair of exposed, faceless breasts with the caption: ‘Give your baby the best take-away. Two convenient locations.’ Adam elbowed him in the ribs.
“This is coming out of left fi eld, Mad.”
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*
Maddy swiveled away from a ‘Jolly Jumper: Dos and Don’ts video and warily attended to her Expo sidekick.
‘Left fi eld’—not a happy place of origin. Not at this time, not in these circumstances. Her own left fi eld had invariably offered cloistered pain and irresistible evacuation and useless pleas and the world falling apart.
Was Jenna in trouble? Had trouble already speared into tragedy? Maddy recalled she’d dropped the phone when asked to come along today; an occurrence, at the time, attributable to bog-standard clumsiness. Was there a far graver cause? Jen certainly wasn’t herself right now. You only had to look at the goldfi sh face she was presently wearing to know that was true.
The potential sadness of the prevailing context suddenly became apparent to Maddy: Jay, though betrayed by Fate, stays loyal to a friend’s invitation. Why? Because she can’t come up with any sort of lie? Because loyalty, unlike pregnancy, has the capacity to remain solid and steadfast and reliable if one so desires? Maybe she’s swallowed the insulting, throwaway rhetoric that inevitably comes your way post-loss:
Be strong!
Move on!
Put it behind you!
Sure, it’s not an easy invitation Jenna’s honouring. A visit to the ‘Pregnancy, Birth and Baby Expo’ could easily be construed as an act of masochism. But what better place to start afresh, hey? What better opportunity to nip that pesky grieving process in the bud?
Happens to lots of women!
Climb back on the horse!
No time like the present!
GO ON, GET ON WITH YOUR LI---
Maddy scrunched her eyes, shooed the sniping thoughts
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Doctors, Dragons and Dougie Defi ance from her mind. Rationality gained a moment’s freedom. She recognised this knee-jerk panic for what it was: History’s doing, nothing more. Left fi eld ought not be feared. It harboured the unexpected; not necessarily doom. It could just as easily engineer diversion or distraction. Perhaps even joy.Jenna Grimson was ‘with child’ and anything was possible.
As the PA crackled to life overhead, Maddy opened her eyes and smiled, toying with the idea that her treasured, goldfi sh-faced friend had twins on board.
*
“THE WINNER…OF THE DOOR PRIZE…IN OUR
‘BOUNCING BABY BASKET’ DRAW IS…JENNA
GRIMSON!!!
The Trance twitched, contorted, broke down into dazed despair.
“JENNA GRIMSON—OUR LUCKY WINNER!”
Lucky Winner looked at Maddy, at the stage, at Boyd---
“JENNA?”
---at the stage, at Adam, at the stage---
“C-57?”
---at the ticket in her purse, at the stage, back at Maddy. A wan smile accompanied a small jiggle of the cursed stub.
“I did say left fi eld, didn’t I?”
The chosen recipient of a hamper advertising the promise of ‘Everything a new mother could want!’ shuffl ed off toward her prize.
“I wonder if there’s a fake belly in there?” mused Adam, desperately clinging to a straight face.
“Or a ‘Come clean’ voucher,” muttered Boyd.
*
Adam’s stomach backfl ipped as his e-mail inbox appeared on the computer screen.
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Checking incoming messages was a twice-daily event now. The ongoing prospect of connecting with his child, of rising above the mundane and engaging with a miracle, was a privilege beyond the lip service of once a week, or even once a day. It asked for a commitment worthy of its own munifi cent constancy.
Constancy.
That’s what made this so special.
Adam had experienced miracles before. The times when Maddy reached into his soul with a touch or a look or a laugh. When words he’d assembled took fl ight and shone like the constellations. When a small stick had shown the O’Dohertys to be pregnant for the fourth and most unlikely time. These were moments of transcendence, and Adam felt blessed to have tasted their wonder. Yet they were sporadic gifts, unfettered by rites or routine, to be regarded with the same reverence as a last mortal meal.
Little B’s correspondence wasn’t like that. It was surety, certainty. Constancy. The ultimate indicator of destiny’s drive, of the masterplan’s progression.
And clicking on the unopened e-mail from Tristan titled
‘Good News About Your Novel’, Adam believed the masterplan was progressing, no question about it.
*
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
My agent Tristan e-mailed to tell me I got two rejections for The Ordinary Man’s Enemy— one from Eaton & Barry, the other from Costigan Press. He isn’t fazed. According to him ‘It’s all good’. E&B, he claims, are too big to appreciate a work like this, whilst Costigan Press are too selective for their own good. He wasn’t surprised by this outcome. He can’t wait to see them kick themselves when the novel goes bestseller with somebody else, in all likelihood Hutton House or Kendrick & Sons.
How do I regard this news?
I am two rejections closer to my triumph.
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s, Dragons and Dougie Defi ance 9
M addy emptied a bucket of grass clippings into the compost bin and gave voice to the questions shunting her regular trains of thought:
“Would you like to have a doctor, Kiddo? Hey? Would you like a doctor to watch over you and keep you from harm?”
She patted her abdomen.
“Your Aunty Michelle would. Probably the rest of Daddy’s family, too. I know where they’re coming from, but I won’t let doctors be responsible for you. I won’t have them telling me everything’s fi ne and everything’s gone with the exact same face. Assuring me there are plenty of women worse off than yours truly. Reminding me they never made any promises or guarantees. I won’t have them pretending they care. I won’t. Never again.”
She prodded the compost with a pitchfork then sat down heavily in a nearby garden chair.
“The O’Dohertys need to understand where I’m coming from.”
Maddy extracted the phone from her hip pocket. She punched out six numbers, paused, stabbed the ‘Off’ button.
After a few deep breaths, she repeated the process, this time managing to complete the required eight number sequence.
The disconnection severed the second set of beeps. Maddy tapped the appliance against the forehead.
“Sorry.”
A shrill scream of frustration preceded a slow, contemplative shuffl e toward the rear stairs of the house.
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*
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
At the family dinner this evening, it took two hours and two serves of Grandad’s infamous beef and black bean goulash for the question to be tabled.
Such a long wait had seemed unlikely at the commencement of proceedings. Chit-chat from the outset had revolved around one topic and one topic alone…
*
“I can’t imagine a better job than obstetrician,” raved Michelle, responding to group misgivings about blood and forceps and abusive women in the clutches of agony. “Every day the privilege of greeting new life at the world’s front door.”
*
From: “Adam O’Doherty”
…Here we go, I thought. Family Dinner is set to become Family Feud.
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