Paper Chains

by Nicola Moriarty

  As she chanted her way through her list of things to do, she noticed that her breathing was beginning to quicken again.

  Make up spare bedroom.

  Vacuum . . . everywhere.

  Tidy the garden. Must get Liam to mow the lawns as well.

  Grocery shopping, pantry is looking really bare at the moment. Get some of those wafer biscuits that Nick loves.

  Her hands were becoming sweaty; she shifted them and tried to wipe them dry on Ethan’s wrap. The movement disturbed him and he stopped sucking for a moment, his dark eyes darting up to look at her. She froze. Please don’t come off, Ethan, let’s just get this feed done so I can get back to bed. He returned to sucking.

  Change Ethan’s cot sheets . . . haven’t changed them since he moved to the cot from the bassinette and that’s been a few weeks now. Can’t have Trish thinking I put the baby to bed on dirty sheets.

  Washing! Oh my goodness there is so much washing to do. I’ve got to make sure I catch up on that before they get here.

  Hang on, do we have enough pillows for all of us? Right. Check pillows – add that to the list.

  Her breathing increased again. There’s too much, she thought. Far too much to do. She kept discovering new things that needed to be done and each time a new task was added to the list, she was sure something else was slipping off at the other end. Her world was tilting dangerously sideways. The tips of her fingers tingled. She didn’t notice that she had started to shake until Ethan suddenly unlatched himself, opened his mouth and began to yell.

  Please don’t cry so loudly, baby.

  She lifted him up and over her shoulder, rubbing his back, trying her best to calm him down. Eventually the sobbing subsided and she returned him to her lap. Have you fed enough? Can we go back to bed yet? Which side did you start on, have we done both sides or just one? Dammit! Why was it so hard for her brain to keep track of these simple things? Her chest began to feel tight and her breath started to quicken yet again. Meanwhile Ethan had closed his eyes and was beginning to breathe deeply. You must be finished then, she decided. And she crept down the hall to place him back in his cot. Once he was wrapped up she padded back to the kitchen, still feeling as though the air in the house seemed to be in short supply for some reason. Why couldn’t she seem to fill her lungs properly? Why was the kitchen so off balance? She tried to steady her eyes on the smoothness of the kitchen bench, but it wouldn’t work. Shouldn’t that bowl of fruit be sliding down the slippery slope and onto the floor right now? Apples bouncing and rolling, banana peel splitting. Shouldn’t the fridge be crushing her right now? How is it still standing at that tremendous angle?

  She snatched up a piece of paper and a pen and began to write down everything that came to mind that needed to be completed over the next few days. Seeing each new item, right there in black ink, unable to fade away from her memory, soothed her. Her breathing slowed and the tightness in her chest slowly unravelled and vanished. The kitchen began to right itself and the fridge stopped looming over her, settling back on its haunches, no longer a predatory creature. I can do this. As long as it’s all written down, I can get it done. Her list completed, she headed to the pantry, moved boxes of breakfast cereals aside and reached to the back for her new supply of chocolate. She was ravenous; she supposed she had forgotten to really eat anything that day again. She stood at the cupboard and methodically ate her way through two Mars bars and a king-size Twirl. Towards the end she started to feel slightly sick, but she kept eating anyway, a strange feeling of pleasurable defiance creeping over her as she did.

  A few days later, Hannah was running her eyes over her to-do list, making sure everything was set for when Liam arrived home from the airport with his parents in tow. Her eyes caught sight of the one item she hadn’t yet crossed off: change Ethan’s cot sheets. For some inane reason it had been so important to her to get everything on that list done before they arrived. And really, how hard was it to change a set of cot sheets, for goodness sake? Why hadn’t she just found a spare moment to do it? What was wrong with her? Ethan was on the rug in the living room just last night, having some tummy time – that would have been the perfect opportunity to have got it done. But what was she doing? She was sitting on the couch, just watching him. God, she was so lazy. Lazy and empty in fact. Because the reason she had been sitting there watching him was because she had been waiting for some kind of emotion to hit. Some remote feeling of affection for the cute little baby that was wriggling around on the floor at her feet, examining his own fingers as though they were amazing little creatures on the ends of his hands. She had sat there and watched him and become acutely aware of the fact that she was dead inside. That her limbs were logs of rotting wood. That her torso was a hollow trunk. And she had accepted this fact and simply shrugged. Oh well, I have no soul. Wonder what I should cook for dinner tonight. The realisation was kind of a relief really. Now she could stop trying to figure out why she wasn’t gushing over her adorable new baby. She could just get on with things instead.

  The visit from Trish and Nick ended up being, for the most part, fairly uneventful. Hannah simply played the part of the loving mother. She was a machine. She cooked, she cleaned, she fed her baby, she played with Gracie, she rocked Ethan in her arms and pretended to look down at him with dewy, loving eyes – but behind her eyes was that empty, dark space.

  The one day that her world threatened to become unstuck, when she almost dropped her cool, calm and together façade was when Trish offered to take care of the kids while Hannah took a walk to the store around the corner to pick up a few things. The problem came when she arrived back home. As she was putting away the few groceries in the kitchen, she was listening to Trish chatting away about what they’d been doing while she was gone.

  ‘. . . and we played with Ethan together, didn’t we, Gracie? We did round and round the garden and watched him gurgle and grin at us. And then Ethan was starting to seem tired so he went down for a nap and Gracie and I have been doing some finger painting, haven’t we, sweetheart?’

  Hannah was smiling politely as she listened to the blow-by-blow description of each thing her mother-in-law and children had done while she had been gone for all of twenty minutes and thinking to herself, That’s great, Trish, but I don’t really care. I know you think that I do. Because most mums do care. Most mummies want to know everything their gorgeous little monkeys have been up to for every second of the day that they’re out of their sight. But nope, not me. You could be telling me you just took them out the back for a toke on a joint or up the road to the pub for a drink and a game on the pokies, but I’d still just smile and nod because I’m not really listening because I don’t really care. She was just about to start reprimanding herself for thinking such awful things when something that Trish said made her pay attention and forget all of those horrifying scenarios that had been playing through her mind.

  ‘. . . Oh and I changed Ethan’s cot sheets for you. I noticed there was just a couple of little sickie stains on them and I thought you might like some fresh sheets in there for him. I popped the old ones in the machine with a few other things I could find. You don’t mind, do you?’

  Hannah’s skin began to tingle unpleasantly. How had this woman come into her home and managed to do that one simple task? That one thing that she had been failing to do for the last couple of weeks – when she had been left alone for just twenty minutes?

  Why are you reacting like this? she thought crossly. Why does it matter that Trish was the one to do it? You wanted it done, and now it’s done. But she couldn’t seem to make herself see clearly. Instead her thoughts were curdling and her hands were starting to tremble. An odd sort of feeling was rising up in her chest. She seemed to be swinging between two fierce desires. On the one hand she wanted to throw herself into Trish’s arms, to thank her for doing that one thing that had been hanging over her head, to cry against her chest and let her be the mother that she no lo
nger had. But on the other hand she felt ready to fly into a rage. She wanted to scream at Trish for interfering. She wanted to yell at her, ‘I was going to get that done. You didn’t need to do it. You shouldn’t have taken that one thing away from me. Now I’ll never be able to prove to myself that I could have got it done. I’ll never be able to prove that I’m not a failure!’ But deep down underneath it all, a voice was saying quietly, ‘But you are a failure. And you already know it. Those thoughts you were having earlier prove that. You don’t even seem to love your children any more. Either of them.’ And then suddenly a thought struck her, with complete clarity: You don’t even want those children any more.

  ‘Are you all right, dear? You look a bit pale.’ Trish’s voice brought Hannah hurtling back to reality. Her whole body was shaking. She turned to look at Trish, pasted a smile on her face and said quickly, ‘Actually, I forgot one thing at the shops. Butter! Would you believe it? That was the thing I went out for in the first place, wasn’t it? Do you mind? I’ll just . . .’ And without waiting for a response she rushed back out through the living room, ignoring the look of concern on Trish’s face and slamming the front door behind her. Then she began to run up the street.

  Nick pressed his Visa into Liam’s hand. ‘Here you go, dinner’s on us,’ he said, winking at the two of them.

  ‘You don’t need to do that –’ began Liam; it was enough that they were babysitting so that he and Hannah could get some time to themselves.

  ‘Ah, let your father treat you,’ said Trish, rocking Ethan in her arms, her eyes glinting. ‘We like to do something nice once in a while for you both.’

  ‘Dad, I can’t use your credit card anyway. How am I supposed to sign for it?’

  ‘Nonsense, just scrawl, it’s not like they check anyway. If you’re worried, use the pin; it’s your mother’s birth year.’ They were ushered out the door then and they walked to the car in the driveway in silence.

  Liam automatically hopped in the driver’s side and Hannah circled around the car to climb into the passenger seat.

  As they reversed out of the driveway, Liam gave a sudden groan of contentment and Hannah looked over, startled. ‘What?’ she asked.

  ‘What do you mean what? We’re free! Just the two of us for the night! Doesn’t it feel great?’ ‘Oh,’ said Hannah. ‘Right, sorry, I thought you’d hurt yourself or something.’

  Liam glanced sideways at her as he negotiated out onto the road and then swung the car around and headed up the street. ‘You’re worried about him, aren’t you?’ he asked. ‘Don’t worry, babe, he’ll be no trouble for Mum. You have to leave him for the first time eventually!’ and he reached across to pat her thigh. Hannah looked out the window.

  ‘I know,’ she replied. ‘Just hoping he’ll feed okay for them,’ she said, ‘and that they’ll be able to put him down to bed without too much hassle.’ But her voice sounded monotone as she spoke, almost as though she were inventing the concerns as she went along.

  ‘Try not to think about it. We can call during dinner if you want, check up on him?’ Liam tried.

  ‘Yeah, sure.’

  They drove in silence then, and Liam tried to remember what the two of them usually talked about when they spent time together on their own. Why did he feel so nervous? As if it were a first date and he was keen to impress.

  Why can’t I seem to get through to you at the moment, Han?

  They picked a busy Greek restaurant on Terminus Street and were given a table in a corner. Hannah was relieved to find the place buzzing with noise and movement. Maybe she could be swallowed up in all that buzz. Maybe she could find her personality hidden among it. Or maybe she could just stay quiet and Liam wouldn’t notice because everything else would fill the silence for her. Maybe she could sink into her chair and disappear and Liam could replace her with that waitress over there, the one with the long, dark, spiral curls and the olive skin and the unreasonably large breasts. She looked like the motherly type. As Hannah disintegrated into her chair, the waitress could seamlessly take her place. As she leaned forward, pouring the wine for Liam, she could carefully ease herself into Hannah’s seat. Watch out! I’m not completely dissolved yet; you’re sitting on my head! And then Liam would play with her cute, bouncy curls and he would be in awe of her massive chest and she would be entranced by his big brown eyes and he would take her home and Trish and Nick would say, ‘Nice time, love?’ and he would say, ‘Fantastic! I found a new wife and mother for my children!’ And Trish would beam as she gave her new daughter-in-law a welcoming hug and she would whisper, her voice a little watery, ‘Oh good choice, son! That Hannah was like a corpse on a trolley!’ and Nick would say, ‘Great rack!’ and they would all laugh together and Gracie would come running from her bedroom to throw herself into her new mummy’s arms.

  ‘Hannah. Hannah! Hannah!’

  Hannah’s eyes fluttered and she looked up in surprise. Jeez, she had been completely lost in that one. Concentrate, Hannah. Participate in the world!

  ‘Sorry, yes?’ she asked. She had no idea what he might have been trying to talk with her about.

  ‘What do you want?’ he asked.

  She peered back at him in confusion. What do I want? What do I want? Oh God, Liam, how do I even begin?

  ‘What do you want to drink?’ he repeated – and he indicated the waitress who was standing by their table. Towering over it, in fact. God, she was ridiculously tall. And up close her breasts were like small mountains, shooting out from her chest and hovering over them. Hannah realised she was staring and quickly lifted her eyes to fix them on the waitress’s face instead. The waitress raised her eyebrows as she waited.

  ‘Oh right. Yes, um. Glass of wine,’ she said quickly.

  ‘Any particular type or would you like me to just guess?’ the waitress responded contemptuously as Liam said simultaneously, ‘Are you drinking tonight? I just ordered a beer – sorry, I just assumed you’d be driving because you’ll need to feed again when we get home.’

  Hannah felt flustered as she looked back and forth between the waitress and her husband. ‘Right, of course,’ she said. ‘Ah, I’ll just have a lemonade?’ and her voice faltered as the waitress rolled her eyes and scribbled on her notepad. As she turned swiftly and left the table Liam said hurriedly, ‘Sorry, you didn’t need to change your order. I wasn’t saying you shouldn’t drink; I mean, you can have a glass of wine, can’t you? When will he be due to feed again?’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine. Best if I don’t, just in case he won’t take the expressed milk for your parents. I just wasn’t thinking, that’s all.’

  Through dinner, they talked about Liam’s work, about Gracie’s tantrums, about how nice it was to have Trish and Nick staying with them, about the weather, about the mains – Liam’s was nice but a little salty, Hannah’s was better, maybe not enough sauce though – about whether or not they should have dessert. Should we be getting back, or do you think everything is fine? Should we have one each or choose something to share? They discussed the floods up in Queensland and Hannah pretended to know what Liam was talking about – she hadn’t watched or listened to the news in weeks, she hadn’t known that not only had there been floods, but inland tsunamis. She almost asked Liam how he knew about the floods, but at the last second, she caught herself as she remembered, Oh right, you live out in the real world, don’t you? You have discussions with other people, give your opinion, chat, laugh. Mostly, Hannah kept her shoulders stiff and her smile fixed as she fraudulently joined in on their conversation. But at one point, she forgot that she was a cardboard cut-out and she fell into her feelings. It was when Liam told her a story about one particular drowning victim in the floods. An elderly woman and her husband had been clinging to a tree as a swollen river rushed around them. An SES rescuer had waded out to rescue them, but could take only one at a time. The woman’s husband insisted that his wife be taken first. He promised her he’d b
e right behind her. But just after the woman was taken to safety, a new surge of floodwaters had rushed through and her husband had been washed away. They found his body a few kilometres up the river.

  As Hannah heard the story, and pictured that elderly man, chivalrously putting his wife’s life before his, she remembered something. I am part of an entire world. There are other people with much greater problems than me – whole towns being swept away – and more importantly, sweet old men who sacrifice themselves for the love of their life. Pull yourself together, Hannah. Remember who you are. And she cried for that man and for his family and for the wife who maybe wished she had been swept away with him. Liam reached across the table to squeeze her hand and said, ‘Sorry, Han, I shouldn’t have told you that story. This is meant to be a happy night.’ And Hannah wanted to scream, ‘Why shouldn’t we talk about him? Why shouldn’t we cry for him and his family? Why should we have a blissful night out when his wife will never be able to feel joy again?’ But instead she nodded and shrugged and rubbed at her eyes and told him not to worry. And soon she was just torn cardboard and dead wood and sterile plastic again.

  When the bill came, Liam had to admit that he couldn’t remember what year his mother was born. 1959, thought Hannah immediately. But for some reason she didn’t tell him that she knew and she pretended to join in on Liam’s jovial banter as he tried to work it out and then debated whether or not he should sign for the credit card and finally settled on just paying for the dinner themselves seeing as he actually earned more than his parents did and he felt guilty accepting their generous gesture when they were already babysitting for them. Hannah agreed, and when they stood up to leave, Liam looped his fingers through hers and she tried to feel relaxed and comfortable with her hand in his, but instead it felt clunky and their bodies seemed to be out of sync and her skin felt sweaty and Liam’s hand felt too cold, like a dead fish in her palm and she thought again about that elderly couple, clinging to that tree and Liam’s hand turned to rough bark and she squeezed it, suddenly and involuntarily.