by Kim Lock
‘Not with that pan,’ he said. ‘Are you ready for the best meal of your life?’
Jenna stretched her neck to look up at the stove. ‘You got a new pan?’ She stood and moved towards the bench. ‘You got all new pans?’ Wide-eyed, she turned to him.
‘Yep.’ He was nodding, puff-chested. ‘Nothing will ever stick to those bad boys.’
‘Ark.’ Jenna’s voice was breathy. ‘This must have cost . . .’ Hundreds, she wanted to say. Where did the money come from?
‘Hey, forget it.’ He bustled her from the kitchen, urging her again to sit down. ‘Tonight is about you. About us. Forget money.’
‘Yeah, but . . .’
He looked at her. ‘But what?’ His face dropped. ‘You don’t like the earrings?’
Jenna let out a long breath. ‘Of course I do,’ she said, shaking her head as though to clear it. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘You don’t have to say anything.’ He returned to the bench, and began to serve the promised best meal of her life.
iv
The movie finished and Jenna glanced at the clock. Close to midnight. Peeling back the knitted throw rug over her legs, she rolled from the couch and stretched, yawning, before shuffling out of the lounge room and into the hall, pulling her towelling robe tighter around her body.
Light spilled from the office doorway, cutting a bright circle in the dark hall. She poked her head in and squinted at the light.
‘Honey,’ she said, ‘why are you still up?’
It took her a moment to notice he wasn’t sitting at his usual place, in the centre of the desk at his computer screen. His chair was swivelled to one side and, balanced on a stack of papers, her laptop sat open. Ark read from the screen, his fingers scrolling on the mousepad.
‘Babe? What are you doing?’
Ark’s chair rotated slowly as he turned to her. ‘Who’s Euan Li?’ he asked.
‘Who?’
‘Euan Li,’ he repeated. ‘You have six emails from him. Quite the chatterbox.’
‘Hey,’ she snapped. ‘Why are you reading my emails?’
‘Answer my question.’
‘Who?’
‘Euan –’
Jenna gave a stiff, exasperated sigh. ‘Does it matter? Without knowing what the email says, I can’t remember.’ She stepped into the room and repeated crossly, ‘Why are you reading my emails?’
Bemusement crossed Ark’s face. ‘I’m your husband. I’m entitled to know everyone you’re dealing with. And this guy –’ he waved his hand at her computer, ‘– has sent you six emails.’
She stalked to the computer and leaned over his shoulder. ‘Look, it’s right there –’ she pointed at the screen, ‘– Euan Li, from Prestige Carpet Cleaning. It’s about the steam cleaning we had done two months ago. Are you happy?’
‘That’s two, maybe three emails at the most. But you sent him more than that. Look here,’ he began to read aloud, ‘“Beautiful job, Euan, I’ll definitely contact you again”. What kind of contact are you going to give him next time?’
Jenna glowered at him. The hall clock ticked; the fridge clicked off in the kitchen.
‘Oh, God.’ She groaned and put her hands over her face. ‘I’m not doing this. No.’ She turned and walked to the door. ‘Goodnight.’
This isn’t normal, she thought as she brushed her teeth. Is it? Is it normal? What had she written to Euan Li? Was six emails to a tradesperson excessive? Dates, times, confirmations . . . that’s all the emails were. Right? Jenna racked her brain trying to remember what she’d typed. Had she been excessively complimentary? Was it possible to flirt unconsciously over email?
Tomorrow, she would delete the emails – delete all her emails, she decided, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Maybe Ark was right, and she was flirting because she needed validation. Her fingers laced into her thick black hair and tugged it from the scalp until it burned, and she asked herself, What would you even know?
v
Jenna watched Fairlie’s door open, and the first thing that shot out was Fairlie’s foot, poised to stop the cat from escaping.
Jenna couldn’t stop herself crying.
‘What –’ Fairlie stepped outside.
Jenna shook her head, silencing her. A small, flattened-looking suitcase was by her feet.
Fairlie stood aside and pushed back the door, taking the suitcase from Jenna as it began to rain again: prickly, miserable gusts of water.
Jenna lowered herself to the couch, a sad smile crossing her face as Yodel leapt up beside her and headbutted her shoulder. Jenna scratched the soft spot below his pointed ears and the cat squinted with pleasure.
‘Coffee?’ Fairlie asked after a moment, then, ‘Vodka?’ when Jenna looked up at her, nose streaming.
‘Vodka.’
After clearing a space on the kitchen bench, Fairlie splashed liberal hits of Smirnoff into a couple of glasses. Jenna unwound her scarf and shrugged from her coat, staring at a spot on the centre of the carpet.
Jenna took the drink, held it in her lap as Fairlie plopped onto the other end of the couch with a sigh.
‘Are you okay?’
She twirled the glass in her hand, slowly, like she didn’t quite know what to do with it.
‘You’re not, obviously.’ Fairlie took a sip, grimaced. They both looked at Jenna’s rain-splattered suitcase on the floor.
‘I think it’s over,’ Jenna said.
Fairlie took in a sharp breath and watched her carefully, but said nothing. Glossy rivulets of rain ran down the windowpanes.
‘I don’t know if he loves me. Like, really loves me.’ Jenna stared hard into her drink. ‘He says he does. But . . .’ She took a swallow, then gazed out the window, eyes filmed over. ‘We keep going round and round. Everything’s tense, then everything explodes – and it’s always my fault – then he’s buying flowers and saying he loves me and he’s sorry, and I always end up apologising, too.’ She set her drink on the floor and scrubbed her hands over her face.
Again, Fairlie said nothing.
Jenna’s hands floated down; puppet hands on invisible strings. ‘He still wants to have a baby,’ she said, her voice thick and thin all at once, ‘and I . . . sometimes I think it’s the greatest idea in the world – the one thing that could bring us together.’
Ark had always wanted a family. He’d told Jenna that, on that first night in the crowded pub – that he wanted children, he wanted to settle down and give his family all the things he’d worked hard to provide. How could she burst that bubble for him? How could she tell him that family was nothing but a load of shit?
‘He won’t let it go,’ Jenna said. ‘I keep telling him I’m not ready, and then he tells me I’m selfish. Or immature, Or . . .’ She looked away. ‘Or that I need to let go of my mother and “move on”.’
She raised her eyes to Fairlie, her knuckles colourless around her glass. ‘When he tells me that we belong together, I believe him. When he says we’ll get counselling, I believe him. When he says he’s sorry, I believe him.’ She squeezed her eyes shut. ‘When everything is wonderful, I feel so happy, I feel . . . grateful. Thankful. Maybe he’s right. So why am I holding back?’
From the expression on Fairlie’s face, it was clear that she didn’t know what to say.
Outside, the rain roared. In the bedroom, the heater blasted so fiercely that they were both clammy and flushed, hot-cheeked with vodka as they rolled on the bed, one moment yelling and the next laughing and the next stony-faced and silent.
It had been – how long? A year? Eighteen months? – since she’d moved out but it felt to Jenna as though she’d never left. How ridiculously tiny their flat was! It was never big enough for two, not really – but it had been cosy. Easy.
But then her mother.
And then she’d met Ark. And he was
somewhere safe she could put her eyes. All that pain and awkwardness, all that staring at the ground because looking up at anything hurt – it went away when she looked at him. Her mother had dropped a grenade on her, and Ark had been a warm, pleasurable respite. The more she got to know Ark Rudolph, the more she doubted how much she knew herself. Or had ever known herself. Everything she had believed in changed.
‘I’m sorry,’ Fairlie said eventually.
Jenna was lying on her back, hair spilling out like coal over Fairlie’s pillow, balancing her near-empty glass on her tummy. Sitting cross-legged at the end of the bed, Fairlie put her hand over Jenna’s ankle.
‘You’re doing the right thing,’ Fairlie said.
Jenna’s glass rose and fell, rose and fell. ‘Am I?’
‘I think so. I mean . . .’ Fairlie crawled alongside Jenna, resting her chin in the cup of her palm. ‘Lately, everything you’ve said has sounded so . . . miserable.’
Jenna swallowed, didn’t say anything.
‘You are. You’re doing the right thing.’
Over the sound of the rain and the blast from the heater they could hear the dance-beat clatter of Jenna’s ringtone from the living room. Every break in conversation for the past hour had been punctuated by that insistent electronic ring, a mortuary stiffness stealing over Jenna’s body with each unanswered call.
Jenna heaved a huge sigh. ‘I should talk to him.’
‘You’ve tried. How’d that work out for you?’
‘I should at least let him know I’m okay – I practically ran out.’
‘He didn’t know you’d leave?’
Jenna snorted. ‘Of course he did. I’ve been saying it for weeks – months. God,’ she choked out with a sob, ‘even before the wedding we’d been arguing. For a long time, I’ve been saying things about fixing it.’ She put her knuckles over her eyes. ‘Honestly, Fro? Why today? Why now? I don’t know. I just felt . . . desperate. And now,’ she sat up so suddenly that her drink went flying, ‘I feel like a fucking bitch. He’s probably sitting at home crying – he always says he doesn’t understand why I’m upset, he always says he’s trying so hard. Why can’t I see it? What’s wrong with me? Are my expectations too high? I’m asking too much. I am, aren’t I?’ Groaning, she lay back down, arms flung out like a crucifix.
‘It’s always me. I’m crazy. I fly off the handle over nothing – he’s always so . . . calm.’ Her chest heaved. ‘Am I stupid for falling in love with him? For getting married?’
Fairlie scooted closer and silently lay her face on Jenna’s bare forearm.
‘I feel stupid. But I want to believe that I’m not.’
The breath Fairlie blew gently on her cheeks smelled of vodka. A disarray that hadn’t existed even in their messiest days together had taken over the flat: clothes heaped like molehills, dishes strewn across the sink and bench, weeks of unopened mail papered the dining table.
‘You’ve gotta get your shit together, Fro,’ Jenna said.
Fairlie lifted her head. ‘What’s wrong with my shit?’
Jenna stroked her hair. ‘You’re drinking too much,’ she said, smiling. ‘And this place is ridiculous. I can’t even see the floor.’
‘You left,’ Fairlie mumbled. ‘I stopped caring.’
They lay together like that, drunk silences spinning amongst the fretful, jumbled web of spoken condolences, reassurances, confused or righteous self-flagellations. Unpacking Ark’s every word, every action, every goddamn time he unzipped his pants, and putting it back together, and Jenna’s weeping, weeping until the sun went down and came up and Jenna went home.
vi
The counsellor introduced herself as Karen, but she implored them to call her Kay.
‘Okay, Karen,’ Ark laughed. The counsellor also laughed, and Jenna wondered if she was too nervous or perhaps too dumb and she’d missed the joke.
With a Masters degree in psychology from Flinders University, Karen Macpherson came recommended to Jenna by another nurse at the hospital. She wore spectacles with bright blue frames so enormous they skimmed halfway down her cheeks. A silver plait trailed over her left shoulder and down the front of her blouse. After they’d navigated the narrow footpath through carefully pruned roses and rung the doorbell, Jenna and Ark were ushered by the counsellor through the front door of a small red brick cottage, and into the first room off a narrow hallway. The sound of flames crackled from an open log fire and two plush red couches squatted either side of a low coffee table.
This was all Jenna’s idea.
Jenna sat on the edge of the couch, her knees pressed together, her hands clamped in her lap. Ark lounged beside her, his knees apart, one elbow on the armrest. He was laughing again.
‘So,’ Karen said, settling into the cushions. She held a clipboard and pen, and she jabbed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with her ring finger. ‘What brings you here today?’
Jenna glanced at Ark; he smiled at her openly.
‘Well,’ Ark said.
‘It was my idea,’ Jenna began at the same time.
Ark laughed again. ‘You can start, honey,’ he encouraged.
Jenna hesitated. She looked at the counsellor, who stared back at her expectantly.
‘Okay,’ Jenna said slowly. ‘I suppose I feel like we’ve been having some . . .’ She paused again, fidgeting with the buttons of her cardigan. What was she supposed to say? Wasn’t it obvious? How many couples came to see a marriage counsellor because their relationships were perfect?
‘I guess I want some advice.’ Jenna glanced at Ark again. He was still fixing her with an encouraging smile. ‘I’ve been a bit unhappy. I wanted to find out how to fix that.’ Jenna felt the words slide back down her throat.
‘Okay, sure,’ Karen said at length. ‘How long did you say you’ve been together?’
‘Two years,’ Ark answered.
‘About year and a half,’ Jenna corrected.
‘And you were married recently?’
‘Four months ago.’ Jenna’s thumbnail found her wedding ring.
‘Congratulations.’ Karen smiled and turned to Ark. ‘Would you like to tell me why you’ve come along to chat today?’
Ark sat up, propping his elbows on his knees. ‘Like Jenna said, it was her suggestion.’ He sounded thoughtful. ‘I’ll be honest – I didn’t think we needed to be here already, like some disenchanted long-married couple.’ He winked at Jenna. ‘She did have to twist my arm a bit. But,’ he rubbed his chin with his thumb, ‘what is it they say? “Happy wife, happy life?” I respect her suggestions.’
Karen swivelled her face back to Jenna, her pen poised.
‘Yeah, I asked him to come, but not because . . .’ One of Jenna’s buttons had come loose. Her fingers found another. ‘I guess I just wanted some help . . . like, helping him understand me. And me him. It’s like we don’t actually hear each other correctly . . . or something.’ Being here with the counsellor began to feel like a gross overreaction. Like seeing a neurosurgeon because of a headache. Jenna felt a burn rise in her cheeks.
‘That can happen sometimes, when couples have been together a while,’ Karen said lightly. ‘People can become complacent in communication.’
One year is a while? Jenna thought. What happens after another twenty?
Karen smiled again. ‘Would either of you like to share an example?’
Jenna felt Ark shift his upper body towards her, he moved his knees, reached out and took one of her hands. ‘Honey?’ he prompted.
Jenna swallowed. ‘Sometimes I feel like Ark doesn’t trust me.’
The counsellor looked at her intently, chin propped on curled fingers, before rolling her hand in a gesture: Go on.
Jenna cleared her throat. ‘We’ve been arguing a lot.’
The counsellor turned expectantly to Ark.
‘She’s right,’ Ark
replied with feeling. ‘We haven’t been communicating well at all. I’m working very hard, and with the irregularity of Jenna’s shifts at the hospital, it means we don’t have much time together.’
‘Do you make time for each other?’
‘I try, for sure,’ Ark went on. ‘But Jenna can be so tired, with her night shifts,’ he offered her a smile and squeezed her hand, ‘so I understand why she gets moody. But she often misinterprets things I say.’
Frowning, Jenna opened her mouth but Karen spoke up again.
‘What sorts of things do you do to make time for each other?’
‘I try and make the weekends about us,’ Ark said. ‘Sometimes a Sunday is the only day we get together, but Jenna often wants to visit her friends instead. Particularly this one friend, who – I admit – has been a source of conflict between us.’ Ark held up his hands as Jenna made to interrupt. ‘Look, I like Fairlie and I know she’s important to you – but our marriage matters, too.’ He took up her hand, twined his fingers between hers. ‘Especially if we want to have a baby.’
The counsellor looked at Jenna.
‘Of course I want to spend time with Ark,’ Jenna said quickly. ‘I – I don’t think that’s the issue.’ She frowned. ‘And we haven’t decided on the baby, yet.’
‘So what is the issue for you?’
Jenna glanced between them. Ark nodded at her.
‘As I said before: Ark makes me feel like he doesn’t trust me. He accuses me of things that aren’t true.’
Ark gave a big smile, a knowing sigh. Nodding his head, he said, ‘This is a good example of her misinterpreting me. You’ve been so tired, babe, with working and trying to fit in all your friends – always travelling to the Mount – I think you put too much pressure on yourself. You’re trying to please everyone, you have no confidence in yourself. You need to stop, to spend some time at home and take care of you. With me. Take some care of us.’
The counsellor was still nodding, saying ‘Mmm-hmm’ and scribbling away.
Ark was looking at Jenna, his face etched with sympathy. ‘You’re too hard on yourself sometimes. I would never say anything to hurt you – I’m only trying to help.’
