Christmas in Canberra

by Nicole Taylor

  “Oh – that’s right,” Mary thought with relief. “Louise’s not coming to Christmas.” She swallowed her mouthful of sandwich and said “I hear that you are not coming to Christmas dinner at Jane’s.”

  “No,” said Louise. “I’m going to Simon and Kim’s.”

  “They are only in Chisholm, aren’t they?”

  “Yes,” replied Louise.

  “Well, that’s not too far from Theodore. You could always drop in afterwards if you felt like it.”

  “Sure,” answered Louise.

  “Dad wants to go to mass at St Christopher’s Cathedral on Christmas day.” Mary always called Jim ‘Dad’ when she spoke of him to their kids.

  “I might see you there, then.” Louise was non-committal.

  In her inimitable style, Mary had taken the sting out of the mini-drama that might have been when Louise decided to veto a family event. It was her way of saying “yes, we noticed, but you are not important enough to make us care.” Louise had been on the receiving end of this non-attention her whole life and until now had always thought it normal. But since Roxanne had joined the family, Louise had noticed a different style of intra-family relations. Even Jane, the middle daughter, was treated with care and respect.

  “Well,” she said, determined to be righteous in the face of her mother’s covert hostility, “I’m glad I was able to put my university education to some use for you.”

  “So you should be,” agreed her mother. “After all, I paid for it.”

  *

  Marie was torn between wanting to share her happiness and fears with her father and mother, and wanting to avoid the horror she knew would be their first response. Maybe it would be better not to do it in person. Perhaps a letter – or a phone call. No – not a phone call. She didn’t have the nerve. A phone call was always a difficult medium because you couldn’t see the other person’s reactions. You could only hear their spoken reaction and that really only gave you half the information.

  And a letter would have to be written and re-written, and once you had sent it, it could be shown to other people – perhaps people you didn’t want it shown to. The news would have to be delivered in person. Marie thought she would tell her father first, and then her mother.

  But not yet. First of all she had to see how everything was coming along with Roxanne. It looked like their babies were due at the same time and, as Marie was booking in with Dr Bates, she would have to take care not to run into her sister-in-law at check-ups since their doctors were partners and shared rooms. Luckily, staying abreast of Roxanne’s movements wouldn’t be hard. Jane and Mary were competing to be the most informed and best able to assist their pregnant in-law. All Marie really had to do was call on one or other of them and she would know everything there was to know.

  Jane telephoned Marie. “Do you want to come over this weekend?” she asked.

  “Alright,” said Marie. “Are you going somewhere?” Marie often spent a Friday or Saturday night at Jane and Sam’s house. Sometimes, it coincided with them going out – not together, but to separate events. Sam often hung out with his brothers and Jane attended folk-art classes with a girlfriend. On other occasions, Jane and Marie would re-arrange one of the kids’ bedrooms or repaint a wall, or watch a video.

  “No.” Jane was casual. “Sam is going down to the land with Michael for the weekend and Roxanne is coming over for dinner, so I thought she could pick you up on the way. I’ll drop you back at your place whenever you like the next day.”

  “Fine,” said Marie. “What time?”

  “I’ll check with Roxanne and let you know.”

  When Roxanne called to pick up Marie, she was wearing loose clothing and moving stiffly. “Congratulations, Roxanne,” Marie said sweetly as she walked to the car beside her sister-in-law. “I hear that you and Michael are expecting.”

  “If Michael’s expecting, how come I’ve got the backache?” Roxanne retorted as she put her hand on the back of her hip and pushed her abdomen forward in the manner of a heavily pregnant woman.

  Marie smiled at her little joke. “So, how pregnant are you exactly?”

  “I’m almost at the end of my first trimester,” answered Roxanne.

  “What?” Marie was confused.

  Roxanne tut-tutted at Marie’s ignorance. “I’m 11 weeks,” she explained.

  “Me, too,” thought Marie. But she asked “how are you feeling?”

  “Terrible,” said Roxanne as she checked her side mirror and pulled away from the curb. “I’ve had to quit my job so that I can have complete rest.” She sighed as she considered her words. “Men have no idea how easy they have it.”

  “Geez,” thought Marie. “This is going to be a lot harder than I thought. If I want to pull this off, I am going to have to convince even myself that I’m not pregnant.” Marie looked across at Roxanne and tried to think of something appropriate to say. Till now, her own pregnancy had been all she could think of.

  “Is Michael excited?” she finally asked.

  “Oh, he’s over the moon,” said Roxanne. “Why wouldn’t he be? He gets a baby without any of the pain or suffering.”

  Marie thought that Michael probably wouldn’t be able to avoid some suffering, but Roxanne was happily describing her plight and they were at Jane’s place before Marie could respond vocally to Roxanne’s discourse.

  As soon as they were in the house, all attention was directed to Roxanne. Jane was attentive and sincere in her enquiries. Was Roxanne feeling the heat? Did she suffer from morning sickness? Was she craving any special food? Would she like something to drink?

  Roxanne complained consistently and to the last question expressed shock. “Jane, I can’t drink! You of all people should know that! A pregnant woman should never touch alcohol. It is a major cause of foetal deformity.”

  Jane looked as though she had been struck. “No – she said quickly, “I meant orange juice or water – not wine.”

  “Oh!” Roxanne clasped her open hand to her chest in relief. “Thank God! You had me worried there for a minute!”

  Jane blinked and poured each of them a glass of iced water. “Well,” she said carefully, “I’m sorry you aren’t feeling too good.”

  “Because,” added Marie, unable to constrain herself as she glanced at the robust and suntanned 5 feet 7 inches tall Roxanne. “You look as strong as an ox.”

  “Yes,” agreed Jane. “You don’t look sick at all. In fact, you look really well.”

  “I know,” said Roxanne. “That’s the glow of motherhood. All pregnant women get it.”

  “Do they?” asked Jane cheekily, winking at Marie as she spoke. “I don’t remember. But I had to go to work while I was pregnant. Maybe I missed it.” Marie joined Jane laughing at herself.

  “I think you had the glow of exhaustion, Jane,” said Marie. “I think Sam had the glow of motherhood. Or was he just high?”

  “Probably – sounds about right!” Jane was openly chortling now. Then she realized that Roxanne was not joining in the humourous memories. Sam and Michael smoked dope together but Roxanne pretended that this was Sam’s failing and not Michael’s. While Jane openly acknowledged that her husband had a dope habit, Roxanne never referred to it and if pressed, would insist that Michael did not smoke dope even though all his close friends did. Since none of the Keats’ girls smoked and didn’t attend the sessions held by Sam and Michael, it was a ‘common knowledge’ situation rather than an observed fact, so they let it slide.

  But Jane knew how often Michael and Sam got together and Sam verified her brother’s inclusion in each session. “So Roxanne,” she diverted the attention back to where it was most desired. “Have you thought of any names?”

  “Yes,” said Roxanne. “I’m sure I’m having a boy, and I want to call him Murray, after Dad.”

  “Oh?” Jane was very surprised, knowing that Murray and Michael did not get along. “What does Michael think?”

  Roxanne rolled her eyes. “He wants to call the baby Michae
l! Can you believe it?” She shook her head. “If we have a second boy we can call him Michael. But this one I want to call Murray.” Roxanne noticed the silence of the two girls, and added “It would be too confusing having two Michaels in the house.”

  “It is a lovely name, though,” said Marie.

  “So’s Murray,” said Roxanne.

  “Do you think so?” asked Marie.

  Jane decided to truncate this conversation. “How did your first check-up go?”

  “Oh,” said Marie, pricking up her ears. “Have you already seen the specialist?”

  “Yes, I saw Dr Heaton last week.”

  “Isn’t Dr bates taking any new patients?” asked Jane.

  “I don’t know,” answered Roxanne. “I just now that Dr Bates has a tendency to give women caesarians and I want to actually give birth.”

  Jane had had both her babies by caesarian section and knew that this comment was directed at her.

  “Well, after 16 hours of labour I didn’t care what he did to me – as long as he got the baby out safely!” Jane tried to make light of the disappointment she had felt when she had been unable not once but twice, after long, fruitless labours, to deliver her babies naturally. “But however it happens, you have still given birth.”

  “Not really,” Roxanne disagreed. “All you’ve done when you have a ceasarian is have an operation. Giving birth is entirely different.”

  Jane decided that silence was the best response to this flagrant throwing down of the gauntlet, but Roxanne wasn’t finished.

  “And I want to breast feed, so it will have to be a natural birth.”

  Jane looked perplexed. “But you can still breastfeed when your baby is delivered by Caesarian,” she said.

  “Not successfully.” Roxanne contradicted her.

  “I did.” Jane stated matter-of-factly.

  “But you didn’t successfully breastfeed, Jane.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, you had to supplement feed your babies. I saw you do it, so don’t deny it.”

  Jane was trying hard now not to show her exasperation. “I only let Sam feed the babies a small bottle of formula once a day, when he got home from work. Babies bond with their parents when they are being fed and the father of a breast fed baby misses out on that.” Then, to lighten the mood, she added, “and it gave me a chance to shower and eat dinner, so it worked out well for everyone.”

  “Yes, if you aren’t prepared to put in the effort, you can always turn to the bottle. No, I want to successfully breastfeed my baby.”

  Marie looked at Jane as if to say “Surely you are not going to take this lying down?”

  But Jane had no intention of putting herself beside Louise in Roxanne’s bad books, and she knew she had to ignore these comments if she wanted to stay in the running for Godmother of the first grandchild to bear the Keats’ name. So, just as she would divert the attention of her toddlers if they began to squabble, she changed the subject yet again.

  “Come and look at this,” she said. “It is a collection of baby clothes I kept from when mine were newborns.”

  “Are you allowed to call them your newborns, Jane?” asked Marie. “After all, you didn’t actually give birth to them!”

  “You know – that might come in handy one day.” Jane was always able to find the funny side of every drama. “You know how kids in America are suing their parents for not taking better care of them? Now I’ve got a loophole!” Even Roxanne laughed at that.

  *

  “Did she?” Vera was incredulous when Marie has related her conversation with her Mother at Gus’s. “Pay for your education, I mean?”

  “Well, that all depends on how you look at it. From Mum’s perspective, she did. After all, I lived at home for free while I was an undergraduate.”

  “Yes, but you did your graduate degree part-time while you were working. She didn’t support you then.”

  “No, but if I hadn’t had the bachelor’s degree, I wouldn’t have been admitted to the graduate program, so it becomes a “fruit of the tree” argument.”

  “A what?”

  “It’s a legal axiom. The owner of the tree is the owner of the fruit, unless the fruit overhangs a fence and is clearly over someone else’s property, but otherwise the tree represents capital and the fruit is income, so therefore –“

  Vera leaned over and patted Louise’s arm. “Stop, please. Have a drink.”

  Louise laughed and poured herself some wine. They were at Sails Restaurant on the lake at Belconnen town centre, enjoying the early evening view of sail-boarders.

  “You know, I don’t feel old, Vera, but somehow I think that I should be doing something else with my life. It’s like I’m missing something, or missing out.”

  “Everyone is missing out, Lou,” Vera was definite. “Your married friends are missing out on personal freedom; your friends who have kids are missing out on sleep and promotions overseas; people who didn’t continue their education are missing out on opportunities they might have otherwise had at work, while people who did study have already missed out on years of lost income. You’re just going through a slump.”

  “I sure am.”

  “So,” Vera put her glass down and faced Louise. “What would you change?”

  “Do you mean, what do I want in my life?”

  “No, I mean what would you change about how you have gotten to this point in your life?”

  Louise thought. “I don’t think there is really much I could change.”

  Pat shrugged. “Which is another way of saying that you are happy with the decisions you have made.”

  “That’s just it! It seems to me that while I think about every turn I make in my life:- Will I go to uni? Will I save up to buy a thing? Will I go overseas, or spend that time and money to do further study? Will I date so-and-so, or wait to meet someone more suitable – all these decisions take me exactly where I think they will take me. I look at my sisters, who throw caution to the winds and accept the consequences, and they have moved on much faster than I have.”

  “They may have moved on, but they haven’t moved up. Perhaps you want every move to be an improvement, so yours will take a bit longer.”

  “How can you say they haven’t moved up? Both Jane and Marie have families now. What do I have? A couple of degrees! Big deal!”

  “It is a big deal. Your education will open up your future and you know it. Now,” Pat put some money into the restaurant’s bill fold, then handed it to Louise so she could pay her half. “What you need is some retail therapy to cheer yourself up. Because,” she said, as she stood and hoisted her over-full satchel onto her shoulder, “the one big advantage of being a career spinster is that you have no one to spend your hard earned cash on but yourself!”

  “Well, that’s true I suppose,” smiled Louise. “And actually, I could use a new suit.”

  “No, no, no!” Vera was insistant. “You need some fun clothes. You are starting to look too ‘accountanty’. And while I envy your nice bustline, in a suit you can look quite matronly.”

  “Vera!”

  “Well, I’m sorry, but every figure has its advantages, and one of the greatly overlooked advantages of having a smaller bust is that you can retain the girlish look for longer than a girl with big boobs.”

  “Actually, you know – you are right.” Louise acknowledged. “Boobs instantly make you think ‘mature woman’, not ‘young girl’.

  “And suits make you look top-heavy, which in your case is working against you due to your other figure fault: lack of height.”

  “I’m not that short!”

  “You’re not tall.”

  “Neither are you!”

  “But I’m not a double D cup, darling.”

  “Oh.” Louise realized that Vera seemed to know what she was talking about. “So, what should I be wearing?”

  “If I were you, I would avoid anything that broadened your shoulders.”

  “But shoulder pads are so
‘in’ now!”

  “I know, but they come in different sizes and, in your case, I would wear the tiniest ones – if any.” Vera let that sink in before continuing. “I would avoid heavy lapels and chunky collars. Go for vertical designs – buttons down the front, collarless V necklines, slim-width neckties, that sort of thing. And,” she added, “You should avoid any skirt length below the knee, and ankle strap shoes. You need to elongate your leg length and your legs, although short, are good.”

  Louise shook her head in admiration. “God, Vera, you are better than Miss Notaris – my dress design teacher at Catholic Girls High!” Louise was delighted. Like any girl, she loved talking about clothes and was completely diverted from her former gloom. They were leaving the restaurant now and parting company. “I’m going to take your advice and buy myself some new gear. I might even get a new hairstyle.”

  “Now you’re talking!” Vera was enthusiastic. “Go for it!”

  *

  Louise had an organized mind and, when she considered the task ahead, her approach was holistic. She looked in the full-length mirror and scrutinised her appearance. She immediately saw that Vera was right – her clothes didn’t suit her figure at all. They looked great on Leonie Eaton, who had unwittingly become a role-model of sorts for Louise. But Leonie was easily 5 feet 9 inches tall, and that extra 6 inches translated the clothes they both wore so differently that any similarity was unrecognisable.

  Louise sighed at her naïve error and determined to rectify the situation. Fortunately her weight was not a problem; and her hair was, well –

  Louise had to admit to herself that she did not, in fact, have a hairstyle. Her hair was trimmed to below shoulder length, but not bluntly. It was a bit rounded at the front corners, but not actually shaped. She had never had a colour or streaks put in her hair, either, so the best that could be said for it was that she had natural-coloured, brown hair. It wasn’t thick, nor thin. It wasn’t dead-straight but nor was it wavy.