Sweet From the Vine

by Jacquie Underdown

  Sparks of adrenaline rushed through her. It amazed her how much her body reacted to Mitch’s moods. She met his gaze. ‘Everything go okay?’

  He nodded, but the movement was curt. ‘Um …’ He turned to face his brothers. ‘I might head off now and get Sophie to bed. She’s had a big day.’

  Sam and Tom shared a glance with each other, then back to Mitch. ‘Sure. Did it go all right out there?’

  Mitch put his hand up—a warning shot not to push any further. He was obviously teetering on the edge of something and didn’t want to be thrown over the side.

  Her heart thudded again.

  He marched about packing up their gear while Matilda stayed where she was, allowing Sophie to slumber away. Her steady breaths and limp body against her heart helped ease the tension sweeping through her.

  When Mitch had Sophie in his arms, Matilda said her rushed goodbyes to the others.

  She climbed in beside Mitch in his car. Sophie was still asleep, buckled into her car seat in the back.

  No words passed between them until they arrived home, though the car was full of volatile emotion so thick it was palpable.

  Mitch put Sophie down in her cot and met Matilda in the lounge room.

  Her heart heaved with sympathy as he took a seat beside her, because for him even simple days were so emotionally charged.

  ‘What happened back there?’ she asked. ‘Did Pete or Barb say something?’

  His forehead crumpled with his confusion, and he shook his head. ‘No. Why is that?’

  She baulked. If not his conversation with them, then what? ‘When you came back inside, you were … upset. I thought they may have said something.’

  He shook his head again, and released a loud long breath. ‘Matilda, I heard what you said there this afternoon.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘About?’

  ‘About children.’

  She sat back in the chair and glanced off to the side, trying to recollect what he was referring to.

  ‘How you couldn’t wait to have your own,’ he said after a short moment.

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I didn’t realise you wanted children.’

  ‘It’s not a conversation you have so soon into a relationship.’

  He looked away. ‘No. I guess not.’

  Her face tingled as the realisation dawned that this was what had made him upset. ‘Is there a problem with that?’

  He was silent for three loud heartbeats until he met her gaze. ‘There could be.’

  She maintained her composure as much as she could despite her roiling anxiety. ‘How so?’

  He got to his feet quickly and marched across the floor in front of her. ‘I don’t want any more children.’

  Two lines of tension formed between her brows. ‘Ever?’

  He nodded. ‘Ever.’

  She didn’t say anything for a long time as that sank in. He kept pacing in front of her. ‘Why not?’ she asked. He had said so many times when they were younger that he wanted a big family.

  ‘I just don’t. Sophie is enough.’

  She recalled the look he had given her this morning at her parents when she walked into the room with Sophie on her hip.

  She recalled his rush to get Sophie from the car when they had arrived at Tom and Amy’s.

  And then, the final straw, as Sophie slept against her chest and she had admitted her desire to have her own children.

  Here she was thinking this was all about Rachel and her parents when all along it was Matilda who was the problem.

  All the air rushed from her lungs. The blood drained from her face. This may have a different face, a guise, but underneath all of Mitch’s excuses and reasons, this moment was as familiar to Matilda now as her own breath. Rejection.

  A deep terrible sadness made her heart ache. ‘I see,’ she said, though there was little volume in her words. She knew what this meant. She had been here before with him. She had been here with her ex. ‘So that’s it then.’

  He shook his head, brow creased. ‘It doesn’t have to be.’

  She got to her feet, the hollowness in her chest cavity now filling with a bitterness so strong she could taste it on her tongue. ‘Yes it does, Mitch. Because if this isn’t the issue, I’m sure you’d find something else soon enough as a reason to push me away.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  She pressed her hands to her hips, her head sagging between her shoulders as she fought to draw breath. ‘So you truly don’t want children?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Matilda, but no. I truly don’t.’

  Again that wave of sadness gushed through her veins, made her chest and throat ache. ‘Do you know why I left my husband, Mitch?’

  He peered at her as he shook his head. A frown was planted permanently on his face.

  ‘He didn’t want children. I did. That was the second hardest decision I’ve ever made. It wasn’t a rash decision. I had to search my soul to make sure I was doing the right thing. So my understanding that I want children, my own children, in my future, is not taken lightly and is not something I’m going to change my mind about. I will not compromise on this. So, at least we got this out in the open early and I didn’t waste another seven years of my fucking life.’

  ‘Matilda …’

  Her hands trembled at her sides as anger scorched through her. ‘Don’t fucking Matilda me!’ she screamed.

  She never screamed. Ever. She barely lost her cool.

  But she had had enough. More than enough. By now, if she hadn’t got the picture that she was fine to screw and play happy families with until she wanted that deeper commitment, until she expressed her desires, she was disposable.

  Her ex-husband had proven that. And Mitch was doing a great job of it now.

  ‘This changes everything, Mitch. Everything.’ She pulled her phone out of her bag and called a taxi company. As soon as the operator answered, she steadied her voice and asked, ‘Could you please send a taxi to the Mathew’s Family Vineyard. Lot 1. Okay. Great. Thank you.’

  She hung up and pushed the phone back into her bag.

  ‘What are you doing? Shouldn’t we talk about this?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nothing to talk about. You’ve made yourself clear today. More than clear. We are done. Over—’

  ‘It’s Christmas.’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t care what day it is. Don’t you dare contact me again. Don’t you dare try and reel me back into your rollercoaster den of fucking misery because I have had enough of this bullshit. Enough!’ she yelled.

  Mitch watched her warily like she was an untamed animal. In a way, that’s how she felt, reckless, unhinged, hurt beyond belief.

  ‘Can we talk this through before you race off?’

  Her eyes widened with her incredulity. ‘I race off?’ She pointed to her chest. ‘Me? I asked you, with this mouth, with these words, to please not push me away. And the first—the very first—excuse you find, you do exactly that! I’m sure you’re convincing yourself in your self-righteous way that what you are doing right now is justified, but I hope one day you can see how much your … cowardice is hurting me.’

  He flinched and a shadow she had never seen before clouded his eyes. ‘Yeah, okay, I think it’s best you leave.’

  She picked up her bag and flung it over her shoulder. ‘Oh, don’t you worry about that, I’m gone.’

  Her heart was in her throat, but she didn’t give him another glance as she strode away from him, out the house, and slammed the door behind her.

  If his reaction tonight was truly because he didn’t want any more children, then fine, she could understand that. She could be fair. But she knew and, deep down, he knew, that children were not even remotely the issue.

  He was still stuck on Rachel. And even that in itself was understandable. But to keep hurting Matilda like he did as he pushed and tugged—she couldn’t do that anymore.

  She loved him. But she still had some self-preservation left. And to keep getting her he
art broken as he fought to move on from Rachel was destroying her soul.

  Chapter 26

  ‘Have you spoken to Matilda yet?’ Sam asked Mitch when he strode through the front door on Sunday with Livvy.

  ‘Livvy,’ Sophie called out from the living room. ‘I hab U-corn.’

  Mitch leant down and kissed Livvy’s cheek. ‘Good morning. How are you?’

  Livvy beamed up at him. ‘Good.’

  ‘Soph’s got a unicorn book she’s been eager to show you.’

  Livvy skipped past them towards the living room.

  Mitch finally looked at his brother and grimaced. ‘No. I haven’t talked to Matilda yet.’

  Sam grimaced right back. ‘Can’t say I blame her for not wanting to talk to you.’

  ‘Come on. You’re supposed to be on my side here.’

  He held both his hands up. ‘I’m just calling it how I see it. This is three times now that you’ve reeled her in, then shoved her away.’

  ‘I’d hardly call it shoving,’ Mitch said with a growl. ‘Come in, instead of us arguing on the front doorstep.’

  ‘I’m not arguing,’ Sam said wiping his feet on the mat before stepping inside.

  ‘Do we want to sit outside?’ Mitch asked.

  ‘Sure. Coffees?’

  Mitch rolled his eyes. ‘Stupid question.’

  He made them both coffees, and they took a seat out the back in the warm morning sunshine. Mitch leant forward and rested his elbows on the tabletop as he studied his brother’s face. ‘So is that what you came over for, to tell me what an idiot I am?’

  Sam shrugged a shoulder and nodded. ‘And to let Livvy play with Sophie. Middle of school holidays and she’s getting bored.’

  It had been two days since Christmas. Two days Mitch had been wrestling with how monumentally he had fucked it up with Matilda … again.

  ‘You know you’ve ruined it this time,’ Sam said. ‘Matilda isn’t even answering Ellie or Amy when they’ve tried to call her. She didn’t open the door when Ellie dropped over there to see her. She’ll quit her role at the vineyard.’

  Mitch clenched his jaw. ‘Her job at the vineyard. Is that what you’re upset about?’

  Sam rolled his eyes and blew out a frustrated breath. ‘No, Mitch, that’s not what I’m upset about. I don’t understand why. So what if she wants children. Most women at some stage in their lives want kids. You’ve always wanted a big family. Christ, I remember you planning to have five kids with Rachel. Why couldn’t you have compromised with Matilda?’

  Mitch shook his head with impatience. ‘Why should I? It’s not some requisite that couples have children.’

  Sam shuffled to the front of his chair and leant closer over the table towards him. He lowered his voice to a harsh whisper. ‘If that was the actual issue here, I’d agree. People don’t have to have children. But you’ve always wanted them. And then all of a sudden you get this amazing chance to love Matilda again and you shoot her down the moment the topic of kids come up. It doesn’t make sense. It doesn’t make sense because I know you. And this isn’t you.’

  ‘Having a baby is a huge deal.’

  Sam nodded. ‘It is. And you love her. Why wouldn’t you do this with her?’

  He knew what Sam was doing. He was pushing Mitch to admit the truth out loud. ‘Because people fucking die. They die. Rachel died having our baby. I will not make anybody else that I love take that risk.’

  ‘Even if it’s their choice?’

  ‘Even if it’s their choice,’ Mitch confirmed.

  Sam sighed, sagged back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. ‘So it’s not that you don’t want to have children, it’s that you’re scared to?’

  There was that insinuation again that Mitch was scared. He recalled Matilda’s words—One day you’ll realise how much your cowardice is hurting me. Words that cut him so deep because they opened that wound he had tried so hard to ignore. That wound where those slithering emotions had been caged and now unleashed.

  ‘Don’t talk to me like that, Sam. Not you,’ he growled.

  ‘You know, you and I are not that different. When I was having my trouble earlier in the year and I had those sessions with Felicity—she really helped me out. She showed me how important it was that I forgive Tamara for how she treated me. At first, I couldn’t even begin to think that there would be a day when I could forgive her.’

  Mitch rubbed his hands over his face. ‘I don’t need to forgive Rachel. She did nothing wrong. She couldn’t help her condition.’

  ‘Just let me finish. Please.’

  Mitch nodded and gestured Sam continue.

  ‘Felicity told me her definition of forgiveness and it changed everything. She said forgiveness is not about who did what to me or even why it happened. She said forgiveness was about giving up the hope that my past could be any different.’ He leant forward again. ‘Giving up the hope that my past could be different,’ he repeated. ‘That changed my life. We can never ever change the past no matter how much we wish for it. I accepted that what Tamara had done to me happened, and there was nothing I could do about it except step forward into my future.’

  Mitch stared at his brother for a long moment. This would be the most honest Sam had been about his past, his present anxiety treatment, and the therapy he had received to help him.

  ‘That’s great, Sam. I’m really honestly happy that you sorted all that out, but I can’t see what I have to forgive Rachel for.’

  Sam shook his head. ‘I’m not saying you need to forgive Rachel at all. A part of my recovery was also acknowledging what I had done and didn’t do during those years the abuse took place. I accepted that I was a young boy who wasn’t capable of making great decisions and didn’t have the skills to deal with an abuser effectively. I forgave myself for that. So what I’m saying is that maybe it’s not Rachel you need to forgive, but yourself.’

  All the air gushed from Mitch’s lungs as his brother’s words flung towards him and struck him hard in his chest. His face and the back of his neck tingled from the sharp-nailed caress of realisation.

  A deep understanding moved through him, finding a place in each muscle. Little twitches in his limbs.

  Mitch swallowed hard. His mouth was dry as he spoke. ‘I think I see …’ He stood. ‘Um … would you mind taking Sophie with you for a little while? I need some time to myself.’

  The moment Sam left with Sophie and Livvy, Mitch staggered to the kitchen and rummaged in the cupboard for the big black garbage bags he stored in there. He pulled one out, flapped it hard in the air a few times to unfurl it.

  He marched into the living room, glanced at the big vase of flowers arranged how Rachel had left them. His chest flared then receded with each rushed breath.

  One hand holding the garbage bag open, he snatched the vase and threw it into the bag. It clunked as it dropped to the bottom and hit the floor.

  He marched into his bedroom to the end of his bed and pulled at the doona, untucking the ends. Rachel had liked the corners tucked in similar to what one would find on a hospital bed. He hated that. He liked to sleep with a blanket that didn’t capture his feet each night.

  The bathroom next. His breaths were ragged now. A sheen of sweat layered his forehead.

  The bottom draw of the vanity unit. He opened it while resting the garbage bag on the floor at his feet. Inside the bottom drawer was Rachel’s makeup. The scent of her wafted from it as though each compact and powder and lipstick were little olfactory time capsules.

  With both palms cupped, he scooped the individual pieces left by Rachel and shoved them into the garbage bag. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t keep things how you liked it. You’re not here anymore.’ His words were breathless as he scooped and dumped. Scooped and dumped.

  He shoved open the small vanity cupboard, fell to his hands and knees, and reached inside for her moisturisers, shampoos and little bottles of perfume.

  The scent of her made his eyes water. His chest was tight with the pai
n of recollection.

  His movements were sharp, almost angry as he grabbed at the little bottles and threw them into the bag. Back and forth. On his next dive into the cupboard his knuckles struck the bracing on the water pipe. Pain bit. He pulled out his hand—the skin from his knuckles was torn. Blood trickled from his knuckles and down his fingers.

  He stood, slammed the doors and drawer shut, hoisted his bag and marched to his clothes cupboard. He had kept the best of Rachel’s dresses hanging in there. With sweeping gestures, he pulled an armful from the clothes rack and shoved them hard in the garbage bag.

  His harsh breaths were all he could hear in the silent space of his cupboard and the rushing of blood in his ears. His knuckles continued to bleed. The shorts and shirt he wore were clothes Rachel had bought with him a couple of years ago. She preferred him in these colours.

  He grasped the hem of his black t-shirt and lifted it over his head, then shoved it into the bag. Next to go were his grey shorts. Down his legs, over his feet, and into the bag. His heart was racing in his chest. Each decision, each reactionary movement was fast and precise.

  It was as though he were a bowling ball rocketing haphazardly down a hardwood lane. All in reaction to the words Sam had said and the characterisation Matilda had made about him—that he was a coward.

  He was crashing into the lane barriers on his way towards the pins, each collision and subsequent careering into the opposite gutter was the painful realisation that they were right about him.

  To have tossed Matilda away, to have hurt her, was an act of cowardice. He pushed the heels of his palms against his eyes.

  What an ill-fitting emotion spinelessness was—like a child’s heart in a grown man’s body—it was inadequate for him to function as he should.

  His father wouldn’t have felt fear, and if he had felt it, he would never have shown it. He would never have allowed it to get in the way of what was right. He would never have used it as an excuse to give up.

  Mitch wasn’t meant to be a coward. He was meant to stand up, even in the hardest situations, and take charge of his family. That’s what was expected of him; he had known it since he was eight years old. And since then, he had always thought he was that person.