‘Glue?’ Grace read the label, frowning, irritated that Doctor Li hadn’t told her about it. ‘Mind if I take a photo?’
‘Of course not.’ The woman held up the bottle and Grace snapped it with her phone camera. ‘They taste like grass clippings and fish heads but in my madness I’ve convinced myself that that just means they’re the real deal.’
‘That’s familiar logic,’ said Grace. ‘Thanks for the photo. And good luck.’
‘Thanks.’ The young woman paused before walking away. ‘Good luck to you too.’
Grace nodded and smiled. She put two bunches of spinach into her trolley and wheeled it to the checkout. As she was waiting in line she pulled out her phone and texted the photo of the pills to Doctor Li with the question: If we have to do another transfer, can we try this?
Six
Nick always sprang out of bed like a wind-up toy and slid on his underpants, shorts and a T-shirt while Priya was still in the grips of her dreams. Sometimes she would stir at the sound of him bouncing around looking for his Nikes but usually she would sleep through it. He would run seven kilometres each morning, and it was only when he returned that Priya would drag herself to the kitchen to blindly boil the water for the first of her daily caffeine transfusions. Nick never drank coffee.
‘Running is nature’s stimulant,’ he’d say, hopping from foot to foot, his skin lacquered with sweat. He’d kiss her forehead then dive into the downstairs bathroom to shower.
This was one of the many ways they differed. His energy drained away during the day, and by nine each evening he would be fading, just as Priya’s synapses were beginning to fire. Her mind was at its brightest when the stars were. Most of her paintings were completed by lamplight, with the companionable moon watching through the glass ceiling of her studio.
This morning she lowered two muffins into the toaster and cracked an egg into the frying pan. When the hiss of the shower stopped, she yelled out to Nick.
‘Don’t forget the appointment with the urologist.’
‘Uh-huh,’ he called from the bathroom.
‘Nick.’ She went to the bathroom and leaned against the doorframe, her arms folded, an eggy spatula in her hand. ‘You won’t forget.’ He was staring intently at the mirror as he dabbed wax in his hair and tweaked the ends. ‘Would you let me?’ He smiled and followed the comment with a wink.
Priya looked into his eyes in the mirror. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, walking over to her and trailing a hand through her hair. ‘Everything will be fine.’
Priya looked away. Her insides felt like they were tearing themselves apart. This was the Nick he presented to her—considerate, faithful, loving. But then there was the Nick she had discovered for herself—secretive, untrustworthy and, worst of all, seemingly unable to be satisfied with her alone.
‘Just nervous, I guess. All those needles …’
‘Are you okay?’
‘Uh-huh.’
He nodded, satisfied. ‘It’s not really fair,’ he said, upbeat again. ‘You have to be pricked and pinned and pumped full of drugs when all that happens to me is they give me a stack of porn and tell me to make nice with Mr Hand.’
He may have been joking, but she could hear the vulnerability in his voice. He punched one fisted hand into the other, trying to work out the nervous energy.
‘You’ll do great,’ she said.
‘When we get back perhaps we can road test the new tub. You know, to relax.’
He’d installed it the weekend before and then they’d both scrubbed it until it shone. It was deep and perfect for soaking.
‘Maybe.’ Priya contemplated the confusing symbol of his devotion to her.
A phone call came from the urologist’s office three days later confirming that Nick Archer was more virile than a pack of oxen. Figures, thought Priya.
Hurricane Nick. That’s what the girls used to call him. When Nick and Priya first met at the technical college where he was learning construction and she was completing a certificate of art restoration, he would blow around the campus like a force of nature, sweeping other students up in his excitement.
‘Girls!’ He’d run past Priya’s table where she was eating lunch with her friends, their books spread out so they could gape at the colours of Paul Gauguin or whichever artist they were in love with that week. ‘Come to the track. We’re running a relay to raise money for the uni games. Students versus faculty.’
Priya had never met anyone like him. He laughed easily and often, throwing his head back with glee. He was so sure of himself, but not in a way that made others feel small. He was always friendly, always inclusive.
‘Girls!’ He’d jog past, a box of napkins under this arm. ‘Come to the courtyard outside the science labs. We’re having a sausage sizzle to help pay for an atomic microscope. What about you, Priya?’ he slowed to an on-the-spot jog, then winked. She sat up straight as if she’d been bitten.
The next month it was, ‘Girls! I’m running for student council. Vote one Nick Archer!’
‘Not much can stop Nick Archer when he sets his mind to something,’ one of his cronies said, passing her a badge with Nick’s face on it. He’d won the election by a landslide.
Priya was in her office at the auction house answering a few final emails before leaving for the Empona clinic when she found herself opening her Bumble app and looking at Rose. Tousled and carefree Rose. Priya slid across to the panel of bachelors lining up for the beauty queen’s consideration. They seemed so distant. So unreal. She could message any of them now, and what would it mean? She wouldn’t hear their voices, or feel the warmth of their skin. She wondered if Darsh was right. Were a few text messages really that bad?
She thought of the antique bath Nick had salvaged. They’d spent a morning on their knees, cleaning up the clawed feet with toothbrushes and a solution of baking powder and ammonia. Priya admired the detail of the paws and the swirls of the beast’s fur forged in iron. After, Nick had told her she had to christen it, and tossed her a bottle of fancy bubble bath. As the water gushed into the porcelain tub she sat on the edge and trailed her fingers across the wall tiles he had laid. In the face of so much good, how big a sin was the flirtation, really?
Her phone exploded to life. Nick.
‘Hello?’
‘Pri. Don’t be mad.’
She stiffened. ‘That’s never a promising start to a conversation.’
‘I know. But Hector just asked me if I could lend a hand this afternoon on a mansion in Rose Bay.’
‘This afternoon? Nick—’
‘I know, the Empona appointment, but he’s really in a bind. He said he’d pay me double time. And you don’t really need me for this part, right? I mean, I want to be there with you. But it’s nearly a thousand bucks for half a day’s work.’
Priya bit her lip. The thought of Nick not coming to the appointment made her suspicious and fearful. But on the other hand, Empona’s services did not come cheap.
‘You’re right. We could use the money.’
‘I’ll only go if you’re sure.’
‘I’m sure.’
‘Okay. I’ll see you tonight. Think fertile thoughts.’
As Priya walked to her car she wondered if he really was going to a building site, and she couldn’t deny her disappointment and doubt. She picked up her phone and felt its weight, contemplating Rose. Then she tossed it onto the passenger seat and put the key in the ignition. It would be hard for him to explain if the thousand dollars didn’t materialise.
Twenty minutes later Priya was stalled on the M5 and worried she was going to miss her appointment. She needed a chai tea. And a massage. And a positive pregnancy result. And to discover Bumble had been installed on Nick’s phone as a prank, by a mate, without his knowledge. ‘C’mon,’ she muttered, craning her neck as she tried to see how far the congestion stretched.
The tedium whipped up her worst fears. It made her fingers itch for her phone, and the app that held the key to discovering just how rotte
n her marriage really was.
Rose had become like a demon that haunted her. A voice in her head. Priya would slip her phone from her pocket and hunch over the profile. She was Gollum hoarding her own private precious that was sucking her life force. A junkie with a secret.
Activating Darsh’s Bumble plan wasn’t as easy as merely striking up an online conversation with Nick. She had to find him. He had to choose her. That is, he had to choose Rose. Every time Priya flicked open the app she feared she would see confirmation he was still on it, still fishing. She was yet to come across him and the suspense was a torment.
When she finally arrived, the Empona waiting room was crowded, as usual, with couples. None of them looked up as Priya entered. At least you have each other, she thought bitterly. She checked in with the receptionist then took a seat and picked up a magazine, determined to ignore the phone in her pocket.
Of course she couldn’t, and soon she was opening the app and letting the wave of nausea roll over her. Priya took it all in: Rose’s peachy skin, her tumescent lips, her hand raking slippery locks away from her face. Light bouncing off the snow gave the effect of a studio shoot. It lit up Rose’s face and lent a brilliance to her smile.
Rose was exactly the sort of girl Priya thought Nick would go for. A snow bunny. A bikini babe. A woman who could work behind a bar and earn twice her salary in tips, leaning forward as she pulled down on the beer tap, her breasts squeezed together as the glass filled with ale.
Priya clicked on the ‘Profile edit’ icon to see if she could change the name of her avatar. Rose felt inauthentic. The woman in this picture’s name should be hip, with an edge. Kit, or Quinn. Something androgynous, fun and flirty.
But the name setting was fixed.
She found herself once again sliding through the brawny beach shots and the photos of the preening men looking for love. Their teeth were bared, smiling, and their arms were crossed, with their hands tucked under their pecs to pump them up.
Priya broke away from the screen for a moment and realised the couple nearest to her were staring at her: a woman in a fertility clinic waiting room swiping through a dating app.
‘It’s my sister’s phone,’ she said, half apologetic, then gave a silky fake laugh. The couple returned painted-on smiles with raised eyebrows. Priya was about to banish the device to her handbag when she saw something that made her stomach seize. The next suitor on Rose’s Bumble account: Nick.
Seeing his face was like the sharp drop on a zero-gravity ride. The floor had just fallen away and now her guts were in her skull. Priya put her hand to her forehead. She knew she shouldn’t torture herself but she couldn’t stop looking at the pictures he’d selected for his profile. The first was a shot she had never seen before. It was taken on a building site and he was hauling something large that was out of frame. His face was shiny with sweat, like it was when she first saw him each morning after his run. He had a come-and-get-it smile. Oh God, she thought, what if that’s what he was doing each morning, not running at all but fucking Jenny McAlister at the end of their street, in the dirt among her azaleas? She slid to the next photo. In this one he looked swarthy. Dark stubble had grown through. The photo was a few years old, taken at a beach wedding. In the next frame he was wrestling with Jacker, who was going crazy. She remembered that day. It was at a barbecue at Stav’s, and Jacker had just been sprayed with a hose. Photo number four was another jolt. She had taken it when they were in Surfers Paradise. Nick was biting lasciviously into an ice-cream. At the time she had squealed because she couldn’t bear the feel of anything frozen against her teeth. He’d sunk his incisors into the scoop just to make her squirm. Priya had held up the camera, laughing, so she wouldn’t have to look. Bastard, she thought. Filthy, lying bastard. The pain was deep and visceral. Her stomach churned.
She ran to the corner of the waiting room and vomited into a mauve rubbish bin. The other patients looked on with a blend of revulsion and envy—perhaps assuming it was pregnancy nausea.
She tore tissues from a box on the magazine table. As she was dabbing her mouth the receptionist called her name. Priya sat a moment, her phone in her hand. Her husband was smiling back at her, his essential details below. Nick, 36, builder.
‘Mrs Archer?’ The receptionist said again. Priya had to go. But there was a crucial decision to be made. She held her breath and swiped right on Nick. She waited for one airless second to see if her device would show they were a match. It was silent.
‘Mrs Archer?’
‘Yes,’ Priya said. ‘Coming.’
She dropped her phone into her bag and walked into the examination room.
Doctor Carmichael was reading her iPad when Priya entered the room.
‘Mrs Archer, welcome,’ she said, standing and shaking Priya’s hand.
‘My husband can’t make it today,’ Priya said.
‘That’s not a problem. I have your results. Everything seems fine except—’
‘Except?’
‘We found a small cyst.’
‘What?’
Priya had been so distracted by the whole Nick-and-Rose heartache she had forgotten to mentally prepare herself for the results of the tests she had undergone.
‘Is it dangerous?’ When Doctor Carmichael said cyst Priya heard cancer. She imagined a hard little fist of black-and-blue cells punching its way through her reproductive organs.
‘It’s completely benign. But it’s right on your ovary. I think you should have it removed before we begin any fertility treatment.’
‘Surgery?’ Priya felt momentarily dizzy. After the morning she had had, this was too much. She cursed her husband. Why wasn’t Nick here for this? She swallowed. Her mouth was as dry as paper.
The doctor gave a curt nod. ‘I think it’s best. It’s a simple procedure,’ she added. ‘The fertility treatment might not be as effective otherwise. Truly,’ Doctor Carmichael said, gently patting Priya’s hand, ‘it’s nothing to worry about. Just a slight delay.’
When Priya emerged from the consulting room she had a text message from Nick. How did it go? All okay? Will be home late. I’ve got to drive to Penrith to get something. Will bring back dinner.
She checked to see if Rose’s Bumble account had registered a match with Nick. It hadn’t.
She thought about the cyst lurking, nefarious, in her belly. She had thought she couldn’t sink any lower than throwing up in the consultation waiting room, but her appointment with Doctor Carmichael had knocked her down a few more pegs. Everything was coming apart.
The drive home was lonely. She turned on the radio, but the mindless chatter just made her want to scream. Priya was desperate to unburden herself.
‘Many women go on to have perfectly normal pregnancies after something like this,’ Doctor Carmichael had said.
This was what life would be like without Nick. She would have nobody to talk to, nobody to confide in. They had been together so long she didn’t know anything else. Despite everything, she needed him.
When she arrived home his ute was parked out the front. She was hit by waves of anger, relief, gratitude and fatigue. His boots were flopped by the back door, their tongues hanging out and their laces lying across the tiles as if they too were exhausted after a day’s hard labour. Nick was in his chair with a beer in hand. Priya was reassured to see his hair was dulled by dust.
‘I’m shattered. How’d you go?’ he said, standing and kissing her. She could tell this wasn’t his first beer, and in a split-second decision a lie escaped her lips.
‘It was all fine,’ she said airily.
‘Really?’ He beamed. ‘Are you sure? You look awful,’ he said. ‘Not awful, just a little strung out.’ He touched her cheek and guided her to the couch. ‘Are you sure everything is okay? What did the doctor say?’
‘Oh.’ She looked up into his face. His brow was creased with worry. This concerned face was different to the cocksure man she had seen on Bumble earlier that day. Confusion descended. She put her hand to her br
ow. The photo of him at the beach was three years old. The shot taken on the building site was one she had never seen. How old had those messages he had shared with Megan been? Did she check the date?
She wanted to tell him the truth, but uncertainty held her back. She had felt so alone leaving the clinic after scheduling her surgery, with nobody to confide her fears to, to comfort her, or to simply hold her hand. Yet Nick’s Bumble profile was a sign that perhaps she couldn’t trust him, and shouldn’t rely on him. That she may have to get used to the idea of facing life alone. ‘They want to do more tests,’ she said, her voice quavering.
‘But nothing to worry about yet?’
Priya blinked back tears. ‘No.’ She offered a brittle smile. ‘Nothing to worry about yet.’
He pulled her to his chest and held her. ‘You had me scared for a moment there.’ He stroked the back of her head. ‘Stay here, I’ll get dinner.’
She heard him open and close the oven and distribute food onto plates. He served it on the coffee table, and after a few bites she began to feel her strength restored.
‘Nick—’ The question was on her lips, in her mouth, right there, waiting to be released. Are you cheating on me? She didn’t speak.
‘What is it?’ he asked, his face earnest and warm.
Instead of answering she crawled into the space next to him, taking shelter from her worries. She was too tired to fight.
He lay his arm over her and she gave herself permission to feel comforted by him. After the blow she had received in the doctor’s office, she needed something sound and reassuring. With his strong arms, Nick pulled her closer until she was on his lap. Their bodies slotted together, a familiar position.
After a moment Nick said: ‘We’ve had a bad run, haven’t we?’ Priya’s anger at his betrayal stirred. She tried to quieten it, but it lived in her, like a beast, only half tame. She could control it sometimes by willing herself into a state of calm. But often, it disobeyed. The creature did not like the way Nick spoke about their bad run as if it had nothing to do with him. He was the one who had socked Priya’s heart, boxing it for sport. A hard right jab of secrecy, an uppercut of sleaze. He hadn’t endured half the misery she had. She closed her eyes and tried to visualise a future in which she was happy again: a future with a baby, and Nick, a devoted father. Nick stroked Priya’s hair, and her back, murmuring comforting words.
The Mothers Page 7