It was Lotte’s turn to study Eve, which she did at length.
Well, it hardly matters now, does it? Now that you’ve moved on. You’ve got your new family now.
She was speaking in platitudes, and Eve tried to cut through.
But if that’s how you felt, why didn’t you answer my emails? You were the only person I wanted to talk to, and you weren’t here. It was hard for me, Lotte. I felt so bad about it all. When I met Tom, I wasn’t expecting any of this. And I wouldn’t have gone there, I really wouldn’t, except I knew it was going to be something special. I knew it would work. And when you didn’t answer me … I wanted to know you were okay. You said you would come to the wedding.
Lotte stood up from the table and made her way to the door.
They weren’t really for me, those emails, Lotte said. They were for you — you wanted to make yourself feel better. And it worked, didn’t it? I mean look at you guys now, you’ve got it all going on.
Eve followed Lotte to the door. She tried to see with Lotte’s eyes: her own father playing with a small child, one that could have been his granddaughter. She remembered their conversation years before, Lotte’s dawning certainty that she would never have children. If Eve was thirty-seven, Lotte must be thirty-five: there was still time. There was no reason that Lotte couldn’t have any of this, if this is what she wanted.
I missed you, Lotte. I wished that you had replied, there were so many things I wanted to tell you. And it was hard for me, with Mina. She wasn’t the easiest … I didn’t find it easy.
Lotte took a moment to answer.
It’s not that I didn’t care, she said. It’s just that I don’t think I had anything to offer. I don’t know anything about children; I wouldn’t have been the right person to help anyway.
It’s not about that, said Eve. I just needed you.
Well, it seems you’re happy now.
I am, she said. We all are.
Eve tried to let Lotte’s words take away the cloud of misgiving that had been haunting her ever since their friendship had faltered.
I just wish it was with somebody other than my father.
And Lotte was out the door and walking towards the trampoline before Eve could reply.
Lotte stayed almost a week, her presence exciting Mina to the point of irritability.
Why isn’t Lotte awake? whined Mina on the fourth morning of Lotte’s stay.
Mina kept climbing down from the chair and heading to the hallway to look at the closed bedroom door. It was close to eleven.
I don’t know; she must be tired, said Eve.
But I’m not tired.
Well, Lotte went to bed late. See what happens when you don’t go to sleep at bedtime? You get too tired to wake up in the morning.
But why didn’t she go to bed?
I don’t know, Mina. You’ll have to ask her.
She took this as permission, running to the hallway.
Mina! No, let her sleep. You can ask her when she wakes up.
A face of thunder. Eve knew what was coming next.
I’m bored.
How do children learn this word, this concept? Mina used it as a way to stop whatever it was she had been doing — when she was ready to get out of the bath, when she had finished eating: I’m bored.
How about some play dough?
No.
Drawing?
No.
Lego?
No.
She knew what it was Mina wanted to do: finger-painting. Lotte had sat with her on the deck yesterday, newspaper spread all around, paint pots upended on paper plates. Eve had had to hose down the deck when they were done, splatters of paint everywhere.
It surprised Eve that Lotte was good with Mina. But who was she to judge? How many times had Eve rued, if not Mina’s existence, then the hours of attention her existence demanded? The time spent in idle chitchat with other parents at the childcare pick-up, or poolside during swimming lessons. The endless, cyclical chatter and pleading that accompanied every mealtime. That it was all wrapped in unprecedented joy only made the feelings of guilt more apparent.
Perhaps because it was new to her, and temporary, Lotte showed none of Eve’s own resignation to Mina’s needs. In the hours that Lotte bothered to emerge from the spare room, she gave Mina her full attention, and while at first Eve had hovered nearby, not wanting Mina to overwhelm, increasingly she had been glad to be able to slip away and concentrate on her own work. Lotte devised plans that she and Mina could do together, while Eve sat at the dining table cobbling together a new museum soundtrack: listening to recordings of children’s playground chants, the thwack of a tennis ball on a plastic cricket bat, the ding-ding of a school bell.
Baking biscuits one afternoon, Lotte encouraged Mina to throw choc-chips at her from the other side of the kitchen, catching some of them in a mixing bowl: the rest had to be swept up later. By Eve. Pasting pictures onto cardboard so Mina could make her own puzzles. Cutting finger puppets out of felt. All tasks that Eve would surely do if she had the time. Which Lotte had in spades, it seemed. She remained vague about how long she was staying; hadn’t made any mention of further plans. Eve, not wanting to make her feel unwelcome, was reluctant to ask when she might be leaving, and happy to take advantage of her goodwill until the childcare centre reopened from its end-of-year break.
Each evening, Eve hoped they might have an opportunity to rekindle their friendship. But apart from the first night, Lotte would become impatient at around six o’clock, leaving her game with Mina unfinished, and rushing about getting her things together before leaving the house without even a goodbye. Four nights in a row she had gone out, returning late and sleeping through the morning. Eve knew it shouldn’t have annoyed her — what did she care if that was how Lotte wanted to waste her days? But every time Lotte went out, Eve wondered where she was. Whatever she was doing was obviously much more interesting than this: Eve snatching moments with her work, trying to get things done around the house. Tom in his vegie garden, or taking Mina to the park. The presence of Lotte made Eve see everything they did with a critical eye. Shouldn’t she be out and about, too, rushing off to things and coming home late? Had she and Tom become a cocooned couple, inward looking and self-protecting? Somehow she had cultivated this quiet sensible life. A life: safe, meaningful, worthy in its own small way. But with Lotte observing, passing her wordless judgement, it suddenly seemed inconsequential. Lotte with her talk of exoplanets and outer-space discovery; the dedication of people working on something bigger than themselves toward ends that wouldn’t even be achieved in their own lifetimes. Talk of travel and astronomer friends from all over the world. I’m bored, thought Eve. I’m boring.
Your toes aren’t pretty, Mum.
Mina held her foot up for Eve to inspect her painted nails. Red and pink this time.
Lotte has pretty toes; I have pretty toes.
Eve looked down at her feet, toes unadorned. Mina was right. Her whole outfit was drab: brown sandals, grey skirt, navy singlet. There was nothing wrong with her clothes; she liked her clothes. Until last week, that is: now they were making her feel old. Lotte seemed to have a thing for fluorescent colours. The strap of a handbag, a geometric T-shirt in eye-popping blues and yellows. Chunky necklaces of plaited vinyl or lacquered wood. Colourful, all of it. Mina was in love. She mooned about after Lotte asking endless streams of questions, treasuring a gifted bangle or hair clip. Sisterly love, Eve recognised with trepidation.
When Lotte appeared from her room, she was gorgeously tousled in sleep.
Do you want something to eat? Breakfast or lunch? Eve tried to keep the resentment from her voice.
I don’t mind. What do you think, Miss Mina? Lotte made a confused face at Mina, who was delighted to be included.
Lunch! No, breakfast!
So keen to get it right.
Breakfast it is, said Lotte. It’s not even twelve. Are you having breakfast, Mina?
She had her breakfast hours ago, Eve interjected.
But I want breakfast again, whined Mina.
I’m sure we can arrange that, said Lotte. She gave Eve a theatrical wink, as though they were in this together, and lifted Mina up onto a stool.
I was wondering if you’ll be around tonight, Lotte? For dinner?
Sure, said Lotte, shrugging. I can be. Why?
I just thought it might be nice to have dinner together. I don’t feel like we’ve spent much time with you. It’s been so long, and you’ll be leaving soon enough, so it would be such a shame not to.
Eve’s words were so formal that she cringed.
Sounds good, said Lotte, turning her attention back to Mina. Maybe we can dress up for dinner, Mina? Put on our best dresses!
Yes!
Unabashed joy on Mina’s face, as though she’d never been allowed to wear a dress before.
I can wear my red dress!
Me too! exclaimed Lotte. High five?
She held her hand out for Mina to slap.
Now, Rice Bubbles or Corn Flakes, Miss?
•
Seaweed is splayed over the beach, its roots exposed, the tendrils of foliage flung carelessly wide. In summer, it will dry into steaming, leathery heaps, later becoming razor-sharp ribbons to cut unsuspecting feet. For the moment, though, freshly deposited and with no sun to parch it, the seaweed lies soft. Hugging her knees, trying to stop the shivering that rattles away at her, Eve reaches for some seaweed and begins untangling its mess of fronds, just as she used to comb Mina’s hair with her fingers. It is a kind memory, that one.
They’d been staying in a cottage much further down the coast than she is now, close to Port Fairy, and Eve was teasing Tom, asking him if he had brought her there to break up with her, like he had done to Alison just a few years before.
Come on, you know it wasn’t like that!
He was standing at the kitchen bench, whisking eggs and cream together, turning the B&B’s breakfast supplies into a bread and butter pudding. Eve was sitting with Mina in front of the fireplace, combing and drying her hair while Mina did the same to her doll. Perhaps it was the dozy warmth of the fireplace, or being exhausted from an afternoon collecting seashells in the rock pools, but Mina had been still for more than five minutes; it was almost too good to be true.
Lotte told me you were ready to propose to Alison. That’s what she said when I turned up to keep her company: Dad’s down the coast with his lady-friend, I think he’s planning on making her my stepmother.
And instead I got stuck with you, laughed Tom.
It was the kind of gentle, teasing conversation they had often had before Mina was born, before Eve sank into the melancholy that had accompanied her first year of motherhood. There were still glimpses, moments when she knew she wasn’t doing it right, that she was doing Mina a cruel disservice through her ineptitude, but for the most part, things had returned to an even keel. Even so, it had been Eve who’d had to lead Tom back into these lighter conversations — he was loath to offend or confuse her about his feelings, even in jest.
You poor old man, you, said Eve. I bet Alison didn’t even know what was coming. She was expecting a proposal on New Year’s Eve, but you went and dumped her instead. I mean, that was harsh, Tom. I never would have picked you for such a stone heart.
That’s not fair, said Tom, playing up his innocence. I wasn’t even thinking of marriage until Lotte mentioned it. She was just causing trouble, stirring me up — you know what she’s like. She started saying these things in front of Alison, and I had to make it up to her, and suddenly things became more serious. Once it was out there, and I could see that Alison wasn’t opposed to the idea, I decided it wasn’t fair on her: that’s why we separated. I couldn’t keep on seeing her if she was after something more serious than I could offer.
And then you drove home and found me lying in your bed.
The best decision I ever made was to come back early.
He brought a piece of bread over to Mina.
Here you go, sweetie.
Ta! Dad, why do giraffes have long necks?
Why do you think?
Annoyance flitted across Mina’s face. But I want the answer, she said.
But if I tell you the answer, then you won’t figure anything out for yourself.
Just tell me why!
Because I said so. Tom laughed.
That’s not an answer!
Why not?
Because it’s not.
Mina crossed her arms, fed up. Eve fought the urge not to laugh.
Why do you think giraffes have long necks and horses don’t? said Eve.
Mina shook her head, not willing to join in.
What do giraffes eat? asked Eve. Do they eat leaves?
Yes. Her response tentative and drawn out.
And where do the leaves come from?
Trees!
So do you think they have long necks to reach the leaves in the trees?
Mina smiled despite herself, her mood able to change completely at speed.
Yes!
Eve watched the thoughts ticking over, pieces fitting together.
Horses don’t eat leaves, do they? asked Mina.
They eat hay, said Eve.
So they don’t have long necks.
And Eve watched this bit of information sink into Mina’s mind, to lodge there as something forever known.
Lotte hated horses as a child, Tom said. She would refuse to read any book that they were in.
He rarely brought up his previous life as a father. Eve was always aware of it: that he had already experienced everything that was so new to her; that he wasn’t stumbling around in the dark trying to figure it out. But he tended to keep his experience muted, rarely speaking of Helen, or of Lotte’s childhood, so that Eve had a strange kaleidoscope vision of the time: stories collected years before from Lotte, and incidental comments by Tom or friends of his, all mixed up with the photograph albums in the living room bookcase. Eight volumes, the first holding a ragged collection of faded photographs from Tom and Helen’s university days, the next dedicated to their wedding and those of unfamiliar couples. The fashions of the era were seen in the high-necked and long-sleeved dresses of the women; the men resplendent in pale suits with velvet trim and ruffled shirts, ballooning sideburns and oversized glasses masking their faces. Eve tried to match the couples with Tom’s current friends — the ones whose jests with Tom alternated between sly congratulations on scoring such a young wife, and scornful bemusement at going through the rigmarole of young children once again — but she was unable to make any connection: the social circle of the photographs must have been primarily Helen’s.
Helen, who was a young dewy-eyed girl in her bridal photographs, holding a bouquet of red roses, scarlet ribbon trailing to the ground. Unlike other photographs of Helen from that time, which captured her clowning for the camera — a glass of wine or cigarette in one hand, her head thrown back in laughter (sometimes her face was just a blur, the shutter not quick enough to still her constant motion) — the wedding photographs captured her unmistakeable beauty. Her deep-lidded eyes and delicately shaped eyebrows; her full lips and high cheekbones. Eve had spent hours looking through these photographs, nudging them back into place where the glue had dried and they had slid to the bottom of the page. She tried to detect any early signs of discontent in Tom’s face, his hair wild and long, his eyes a startlingly bright blue. But she sees only what anyone would expect: a bride embracing the moment, revelling in the attention, and a groom who cannot believe his luck at capturing such a creature. Rarely do Tom’s eyes seek out the camera — more often, they are trained on Helen. Looking at these photographs does not make Eve happy, but look at them she does, jealous and
mildly repulsed by her own uncharitable feelings.
The other six albums were filled with Lotte, beginning with the baby photographs, one taken in hospital, her tiny body swaddled just as Mina’s had been. The wristband with her name neatly typed is pressed in alongside the photograph, and the birth notice clipped from the local paper. Tom Wren and Helen Jansone are delighted to announce the safe arrival of Charlotte Marie Wren. There was no birth notice for Mina; instead, a post on Facebook, a tally of ‘likes’ and comments of congratulations. A completely different era, but sisters nonetheless. It was impossible not to see a hint of Mina in the photographs of Lotte as a toddler. They shared the shape of their faces with Tom, and a surly look of concentration. As Mina grew, Eve found herself flipping through the photo albums hungrily, wanting to get hints of the life that would play out for Mina: Lotte pushing a trolley of building bricks, painting at an easel, dressed for her first day of school. All of these photographs Eve had absorbed into her own memories as she tried to see Mina through Tom’s eyes.
Lotte still hates horses, said Eve. She thinks their teeth are creepy.
Tom laughed. She got that from Helen. She thought they looked too similar to human teeth. She did like to have opinions on everything.
I only met her a couple of times; Lotte adored her. Eve spoke carefully. Having spent so much time looking at the photographs of Helen, she felt as though she were in possession of knowledge she was not supposed to have.
She was the kind of person everyone loved, said Tom. Or if they didn’t, they’d think it was somehow their own fault.
He was about to say something more, but then closed his mouth, kissing Mina on the forehead. Eve felt the distance between them expand.
Anyway, I better go finish this pudding.
True to form, the topic was closed. Later, the bowls emptied of pudding and Mina tucked away in bed, it was Tom who stepped back into the conversation they had left.
She wasn’t perfect though. Helen, I mean, Tom said.
Nobody is, said Eve, unsure of where the conversation was going.
No.
Gravity Well Page 18
