Hilary went along with what he was saying but for the moment had other things on her mind. She was out to there by now and any thought of scrambling around on scaffolding was long gone.
‘It gets much bigger I think I may burst,’ she told Sean who, as usual, carried the tale home to Mummy when they next visited the old hag.
‘Such a fuss,’ Mrs Madigan told her husband. ‘You’d think no one had had a baby before. I had four and you never heard me complaining.’
Watching Mr Madigan’s expression Hilary saw he had different memories of those days but wisely kept them to himself. She asked herself what she had done to deserve a mother-in-law like this, gift wrapped from the Evil One. By whom Mrs Madigan set such store.
2
At first the premier had been coy about doing the honours but Hilary wooed him ardently over a slap-up meal courtesy of Brand Peterfield and won him round; Kevin Donnelly had a name for being susceptible to good-looking women and good-tasting wine, although, as Hilary said, she was hardly looking her best at the moment.
‘More like Colonel Blimp,’ she said.
The premier, charming as only an Irishman could be, denied it. ‘You are absolutely beautiful,’ he said. ‘The epitome of Australian motherhood. Whereabouts in Ireland did you say your ancestors came from?’
‘Galway,’ Hilary said. A bright smile, fingers and toes crossed tight. ‘Or so I am led to believe.’
Liar, liar, pants on fire… But all in a good cause, was it not?
‘I only hope I don’t pop on the day of the opening,’ she said to Haskins.
‘Hey, wouldn’t that be a great idea?’ Haskins said. ‘Happen during the premier’s speech it’ll make the front pages, for sure. Television too, if we’re lucky. Maybe you should see if you can arrange it. Jump up and down a few times, why don’t you?’
Haskins Gould at his best gave added depth to the word gross.
3
In the event Hilary made it but only just. The next day she woke Sean early.
‘Here we go,’ she said.
A long hard day ran into a long and even harder night. She had been both apprehensive and excited, heading to the hospital with Sean sweating like a pig at her side, but after a few hours apprehension – say rather terror that it would never end – was definitely in the ascendancy.
No wonder they call it labour, she thought, as another contraction threatened to tear her voice from her throat. The hardest bloody labour I’ve ever done. And to think for every one of the billions of human beings on earth some woman has been through this. God help the female race.
The hours had leaden feet but in time they ceased to have meaning. All that was left was pain: on and on and on.
Jennifer was born at three o’clock in the morning while the world outside the hospital windows was dark.
Sean had been at the hospital for a while but had left after an hour, seeing no point hanging about when nothing seemed to be happening. Happy to have an excuse to take a day off work he’d had a few beers with some mates and later kipped out on the settee. He was asleep when Jennifer was born, too far under to hear the phone, so he knew nothing until he rang, bleary eyed, in the morning.
‘A girl?’ he told the nurse. ‘Well, better than nothing, I suppose.’
And could not understand why the stupid cow was so sniffy about what had only been a joke. However, it was a joke he did not repeat to anyone else.
Mrs Madigan paid a call on her daughter-in-law later in the day; no one was going to accuse her of failing to do her duty.
‘Looks a bit peaky to me,’ she told the new mother. ‘You sure there’s nothing wrong with her?’
Hilary closed her eyes to shut the old bat out, thinking how you could always rely on Mrs Madigan to come up trumps, whatever the situation. She’ll be the best most beautiful most intelligent child in the whole world, Mrs Madigan. So there.
And cuddled the baby close, her overflowing heart warming her like a fire.
Did my mother ever do this to me? Hilary wondered.
4
She certainly had a pair of lungs on her. The way she bellowed, Hilary decided she could hire her out for foghorn duties at a lighthouse. It was also true that having a baby in tow was a complication. A baby’s yelling could be a big turn off when it came to buying or selling a block of land but there was no help for it.
‘Now if I were an old-time British aristocrat,’ she told Sandy Peterfield, ‘I’d have a wet nurse on tap.’
On tap was right; the way Jennifer went at them Hilary began to wonder if she’d have any nipples left by the time she was through. She told Sean so.
‘Don’t say that,’ he said.
Sean had always had a tender spot for Hilary’s nipples but the marriage was on the skids and both of them knew it. They didn’t talk about it but Mrs Madigan, eyes like a vulture, said it for them. Only to her son – after her remarks about the baby she and Hilary were barely on speaking terms – but she said it.
‘A judgment, that’s what I call it. It’s not as though you was ever properly married anyway.’
She introduced him to Jane Doyle, a nineteen-year-old with an interesting bosom and teeth, mostly nice if you didn’t look at them too closely, who sang in the St Ignatius church choir. An Irish Catholic and a fresh young chick: what was there not to like about that?
Sean and Hilary hung on for almost another two years but Jennifer’s second birthday was the last straw. Sean failed to appear at the tiny tots party Hilary and Sandy had organised and Hilary later learnt he’d been attending choir practice with Jane Doyle. With Sean’s voice if anything worse than hers, it wasn’t hard to figure out what that meant.
That night she told Sean she was leaving him and taking Jennifer with her. She knew it was mainly her fault; she worked all the hours God gave and even when she was home it was the same story. A partner should be more than just a sexual object and in the companionship stakes she’d fallen down badly. No wonder Sean had come to feel neglected, but she did not know what she could have done about it. Chalk and cheese, she thought. That’s the problem. She’d had such hopes but it seemed even love could fail.
‘I’m sorry about it,’ she said. ‘It doesn’t seem possible for a woman to have a career and a marriage.’
‘And with you the career has always come first,’ said Sean.
She looked at him helplessly, her bags packed and in the car. Sean’s nose was out of joint but that was nothing compared with his mother. The day after Hilary and Jennifer had moved into their new flat Mrs Madigan was on the doorstep and Mrs Madigan was in a right old rage.
‘Even now you got to do things back to front,’ she said.
In Mrs Madigan’s book the man made the moves and the woman followed, but it was a book Hilary had never read.
‘I am sorry about it,’ Hilary said, repeating what she had told Sean. It was true but didn’t help.
There were nights when she asked herself where she was going in her life. She knew she was different from most people. Normally it didn’t trouble her but now it did. The darkness pressed upon her and there were tears. Her sense of failure was so strong that she feared it would never ease. It was no use saying it was for the best, she thought, even though it was.
A property deal went sour and Hilary knew it was her fault; distracted by her marriage problems she had misjudged the situation. It cost them: not a lot, thankfully, but it was still a blow to the heart. She had an intense hatred of failure in any form and now she’d had two in a row.
‘We all put up a blue occasionally,’ Dave told her.
It was no consolation. I will not fail; I must not fail. It had been her mantra ever since she broke up with Jack Almond. Life was an egg; she had a superstition she would not admit even to herself that the smallest failure could open a crack in the shell leading to ruin. A crack in the teacup… Auden had written a poem about that, hadn’t he?
5
She knew she must get on with her life but it wasn’t as
easy as she’d expected. It was strange; she was the one who had decided to move out yet now she felt she’d been blown off course. Maybe it was the baby, she thought, but immediately felt guilty for thinking it. Of course it was not Jennifer; she hugged her until she squeaked. Jennifer was perfect. No, it was something in her. Whatever it was, the new house was not just unfamiliar; it felt alien. Yet two months later an unexpected phone call poured refreshment on what had been a parched land.
It was eight o’clock at night. The day had not gone well and Hilary was tired and out of sorts. She had been contemplating a long bath in hot scented water and the last thing she needed was to be badgered by intrusive phone calls at this time of the evening.
She snatched up the receiver. ‘Yes?’
A man’s voice. ‘I heard on the grapevine that you and your husband have separated. Is that right?’
She couldn’t believe she was hearing this. ‘And you are?’
‘Lance Bettinger.’
She could not place the name. ‘Do I know you?’
‘We met in the Lands Office. You were checking on a parcel of land with drainage problems?’
Now she remembered: dark hair and grey eyes, a pleasant man a few years older than she was. He had been very helpful and she had thanked him by letting him have one of the blocks at a dirt cheap price. An attractive man. Her spine, which had been rigid with indignation, relaxed.
‘Of course I remember you. What can I do for you?’
‘I was wondering if you’d be free to have a drink with me?’
‘Tonight?’
‘That was my idea.’
Why couldn’t he have phoned earlier? She remembered him very well now and going out for a drink with him might have given her just the fillip she needed. ‘I can’t manage it tonight. I have a young baby and no babysitter and it’s too late to arrange someone now.’
She let the words hang out there, hoping he would suggest another time, but he didn’t.
‘No worries,’ he said cheerfully. And rang off.
‘Damn and blast,’ she told the empty room as she replaced the receiver. ‘Very damn and very blast.’
Now she felt worse than ever. Maybe the bath she’d promised herself would revive her spirits. She went into the bathroom, slopped in half a pint of bath lotion – divinely scented but ultra pricey – and turned the taps on full. Steam gushed. She checked on Jennifer – sleeping – went into the bedroom and started taking off her clothes.
The doorbell rang.
Now what?
She was down to pants and bra. She dragged a dressing gown over them and went to answer the door.
‘I hope you like red wine,’ Lance Bettinger said.
6
A week later Lance turned up out of the blue. She thought he might be lonely so invited him in. They sat in the living room, drank a decorous cup of tea while he talked about birds.
‘Into bird watching, are you?’ she said.
‘Certainly am. Both types. And you?’
‘Maybe the ones with feathers.’ Truth was she had never thought about it.
‘Come spring I like to get out to Rottnest Island. A great place for birds, Rottnest.’
‘Plenty there?’
‘Stacks of them: curlew sandpipers and dozens of others.’
The name meant nothing to her. ‘And these curlew sandpipers are special?’
‘You could say so. They’re tiny creatures, yet every year they migrate here all the way from Siberia.’
‘Why would they do that?’
‘Nobody knows.’
Rottnest was not just birds, he said; there were lots of beaches too, and places to eat. Bike tracks: everyone rode bikes because vehicles weren’t allowed. You could go swimming.
‘Christmas there are stacks of visitors but this time of year it’s almost deserted. Only a hundred or so people live there full time so you can have the beaches to yourself. They have quokkas too.’
‘Quokkas?’
‘Marsupials about the size of cats. Look a bit like kangaroos.’
‘Are they special too?’
‘About the only place in the world you’ll see them. On the mainland cats and foxes have almost wiped them out. They can climb trees.’
A kangaroo in a tree would be something to see.
‘How do you get there?’
‘Ferry takes half an hour. You could come with me if you were interested.’
‘That would be nice.’
‘I’ll give you a hoy,’ he said.
After he had gone she sat and thought. Lance was interesting and pleasant to be with; she thought she could come to fancy him quite a lot. Unfortunately that would be asking for trouble. She had drummed up the courage to ask and he had told her yes, he was married.
‘But we broke up six months ago.’
Perhaps, but it was still dangerous territory.
‘Will you and your wife be getting together again?’
‘No chance.’ He said between one day and the next she’d upped sticks and left him. ‘No notice, no discussion. She’s in north Queensland now.’
‘What’s she doing there?’
‘Living with some cane farmer. They met when he was over for a conference. First thing I knew about it she’d moved out and taken the kids with her.’
‘How many have you got?’
Three, he told her: Debbie, aged nine; Charlie seven and Michael, just six.
‘You miss them?’
‘Very much.’
‘It must have been quite a shock. You getting a divorce?’
‘We haven’t discussed it.’
‘Because you can, can’t you, after you’ve been separated a year?’
‘Why should I make it easy for her to marry him?’
‘Is that what she wants?’
‘Maybe. I don’t know.’
‘Have you asked her?’
Silence.
Dangerous ground indeed but Hilary was reluctant to leave it there. ‘Would you take her back if she wanted?’
‘After what’s she done? Never!’
It was crazy to get involved with him. Yet she did not care. Lance was there now; her feelings for him were now. She would settle for that. The alarm bells could ring as much as they liked; she would not listen.
On the way to inspect a site the next day she thought about it some more. Rebounds from failed relationships, from what she’d heard, mostly ended in disaster. Hopefully not this time but that was all you could say: there was no certainty.
In the meantime Lance had his work at the Lands Office. It was a nine to five job with no earth-shaking future but it suited him. He wasn’t ambitious but Hilary’s life was a whirlwind.
The lawyers were carrying out the funeral rites of her failed marriage; business and Jennifer were her only concerns now and business was booming. They’d finished their second mall and were well ahead with number three. They had housing developments under way; the meetings with councils and town planners seemed endless. They had employed more staff; Sandy had an assistant now and they’d taken on a couple of draughtsmen and a young woman to give them a hand. They were thinking of employing an architect. Hilary had thirty hours work to get through in every twenty-four but she thrived on it. She and Haskins were twin dynamos; the work was rolling in and the money. They had the world at their feet. The pain of the marriage break-up was mostly behind her and she told herself she was happy.
Jennifer was thriving too. A young woman called Agnes came in every day to look after her when Hilary was at work – to take her with her all the time was impossible – but she was determined not to be one of those women who neglected their children because of their jobs. It took a bit of juggling but she made a point of walking Jennifer in her pushchair every day. Exercise as well as time with her daughter: what was there not to like about that?
Jennifer was a remarkably pretty child. When Hilary did her shopping at the Majestic Plaza – where else? she said to Lance – she always took the chil
d with her and it delighted her how many passers-by, complete strangers, complimented her on Jennifer’s looks. Her pretty daughter’s existence filled her heart. Surely that should be enough?
What did she need with additional complications in her life? With a married man called Lance Bettinger?
2004
BURGLARS GO TO GAOL
Sara and Andrea stared at each other. The sound of the approaching lift filled the silence. For a moment shock froze them, then Sara came to life in a rush.
‘We’re burglars: if they catch us they’ll put us in gaol! We must hide. Quick!’
Andrea’s slant eyes were as round as moons. For an instant she did not react.
The whine of the lift was very loud now.
Sara grabbed her, shaking. ‘Where can we hide?’
Andrea came to life. ‘In here.’
She grabbed Sara’s hand and ran, Sara stumbling after her. There was a small kitchen with toilets beyond.
‘In here.’
They crowded into the cubicle and pushed the door to. Breath was in short supply now. They stared at each other, listening. Now the lift was silent. There was no other sound.
A sign was hanging from a hook above the toilet cistern.
OUT OF ORDER
Sara took it down and looked questioningly at the other girl. Who nodded. Sara listened to the silence. She inched open the door, propped the sign open on the tiled floor and closed the door again. Carefully she shot the bolt. They waited, listening.
For what seemed a long time Sara heard nothing. Then came the sound of a telephone lifting; a man’s voice.
‘Charlie Lennox,’ Andrea whispered.
‘I came into the office to get some papers and found the security system had been switched off.’
The two women stared at each other in horror.
‘The thunderstorm? So if I reset it when I leave it’ll be OK? I’ll do that then. But maybe you could send someone round to check? Just in case. That’s fine.’
The phone went down. There came the sound of a man humming.
Stop messing about, Sara implored him silently. For God’s sake… If the security men arrived while they were still there…
A Woman of Courage Page 22
