She held her breath.
‘Of course,’ Monika repeated.
Suzie couldn’t believe her luck.
‘Okay. I’ll pack everything in advance. Some frozen breast milk just in case, a change of clothes, the port-a-cot and sheets. I’ll drop her over at six o’clock, after she’s had her bath and dinner. She shouldn’t give you any trouble. And I can pick her up in the morning before you go to work.’ Monika was a driving instructor. It was something else that Suzie and Nils had laughed about privately, imagining her haranguing hapless teens behind the wheel.
‘Good. That will be . . . nice. Thank you, Suzie.’
Suzie was floored. ‘Well, thank you, Monika. See you then.’
She put down the phone and shook her head. Getting Monika to say yes to something had never been so easy.
The following Tuesday at six o’clock, she dropped Freya off at Monika’s home, fighting the urge to linger. Everything will be alright, she reminded herself; Monika thinks of everything. But just the act of passing Freya into Monika’s arms, knowing she wouldn’t see her daughter again for twelve hours, was disconcerting. It was the first time she’d ever left Freya with anyone else overnight. And with Monika of all people—a woman she’d never warmed to, even when everything had been working out with Nils. If only her own parents didn’t live a thousand kilometres away.
Bill had better be worth it, she thought.
When she opened the door at eight o’clock, she knew instantly that he was. He leaned casually in the doorframe, a bottle of wine in one hand and a bunch of pink roses in the other. He held out both.
‘Your other clients didn’t come bearing gifts, I hope.’
She smiled. He smelled freshly washed, his aftershave a heady combination of musk and sandalwood. He clearly hadn’t come straight from work, as he’d said he would.
‘I stopped off for a gym session,’ he explained. ‘A boxing class.’ It was easy to imagine him pummelling a speedball.
‘No wonder you have neck and shoulder tension,’ she admonished.
He looked her up and down. ‘You’re beautiful.’
Her stomach churned with delicious anxiety.
After dropping Freya at Monika’s, she’d hurried home to soak in a lemongrass bath. Then she’d rubbed almond oil all over her body before donning a figure-hugging purple dress. She’d left her face makeup-free, brushing a touch of gloss on her lips and letting her blonde curls tumble across her shoulders.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Come in.’
She’d prepared meticulously for this moment. The massage bed was positioned in the centre of the darkened lounge room, where the coffee table usually stood. It had taken some effort to heave the coffee table into Freya’s room without any help, but she’d managed it. If nothing else, single motherhood had taught her self-sufficiency. Three towels were strung across a large oil heater. On a small table next to the massage bed, tea lights floated in a glass bowl filled with frangipanis she’d collected from the next-door neighbour’s front yard. The aroma of ylang ylang and orange blossom hung in the air, complementing a recording of Indian sitar playing at low volume. A large bottle of avocado oil stood in a flask of hot water.
‘Welcome,’ she said.
Without a word, he began to unbutton his shirt. She turned towards the kitchen; protocol would deem she leave the room.
‘Don’t go.’
She stood, transfixed, as he stripped down to a pair of black boxer shorts. She instantly imagined wrapping her legs around him.
He smiled at her in the half-light, shadows flickering across his bare chest. ‘Face up, or face down?’
‘Down,’ she said, swallowing hard.
I’m going to have sex tonight, she thought.
It had been more than nine months since she’d had sex and more than a year since she’d enjoyed it. In the final few months of her relationship with Nils, sex had become laborious. In fact, sex had always been disappointing with Nils. It had all seemed so promising in the beginning; he was an attractive yoga instructor with an interest in tantra. But in his dogged pursuit of cosmic sexual power—kundalini, he called it—Nils couldn’t even get the basics right. He’d touched her like a housewife following a recipe; methodically, reading aloud, always double-checking the ingredients. His endless questioning during lovemaking left her cold. She didn’t want to have to explain what she wanted, or direct his fingers to the right place. For someone so in touch with his feminine side, Nils had roundly neglected hers. By contrast, Bill oozed a primitive sexual confidence. He was the archetypal alpha male.
He lowered himself face down onto the massage bed. She pressed a warm towel along the length of his back, brushing over his buttocks and applying another towel along his legs. She held the soles of his feet in her palms for a moment, steadying her breathing. She attempted to centre herself in the way she usually did before giving a massage, imagining a beam of white light spearing down from the sky, cleansing her body and spirit. Then she visualised a long, thick rope tied around her waist, plunging down into the centre of the earth, anchoring her to its hot core. Warmth spread through her body. She opened her eyes and looked at Bill, lying prone before her.
She was ready.
Afterwards, she lay on the couch with her back against him, her body pulsating. Behind her, she felt him prop himself up on one elbow and snake his other arm around her waist.
‘Here,’ he said. His hand hovered in front of her lips, thumb and forefinger pinched together.
‘What?’
‘Gotta have a smoke after sex.’ He drew his fingers to his lips and puffed on an imaginary cigarette. ‘You try it.’ He thrust his hand towards her.
She smiled. ‘Um, okay.’
She pretended to take it from his fingers, then sucked noisily. ‘Wow, great shit.’
He laughed aloud then rolled onto her, pinning her shoulders to the couch. His face hung centimetres above hers.
‘That was a princely fuck. I feel like a king.’
She giggled. No one had ever spoken to her like that. It felt good. She remembered how sex with Nils had usually ended: with the noisy groaning of his premature ejaculation, followed by an interrogation as to whether she’d had an orgasm. Or not.
Bill didn’t need to ask. Her climax had been volcanic—both of them.
He sat up and swung his legs to the floor. ‘That was a good massage, too. I’ll recommend you to my friends. On the proviso that you don’t fuck any of them. I want you all to myself.’
He pulled on his boxers and zipped up his trousers. As he buckled his belt, his BlackBerry fell out of his pocket. He picked it up and glanced at the screen.
‘Damn,’ he said. ‘We’ll have to leave dinner for another time. I’ve got some work to do.’
‘At nine thirty at night?’ She’d prepared a green bean and papaya salad before he’d arrived.
‘Yes, it’s standard for me. Access all hours.’
He buttoned his shirt at the wrists and raked his fingers through his hair. He fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his car keys and wallet. Opening it, he counted out six fifty-dollar notes and placed them on the massage bed.
‘Thanks for the massage, my shoulders feel much better.’
She stared at the notes; three hundred dollars was three times what she would ordinarily charge.
‘I’m not a prostitute.’
‘What?’
She looked away.
‘What do you take me for, Suzie?’ he demanded. ‘Come here.’
She edged towards him, slightly fearful of his tone.
He reached over and pulled her to stand in front of him, grasping her shoulders with his enormous hands. ‘Don’t ever say that again.’ His anger made him seem taller. ‘You are a beautiful woman, and an excellent masseuse. I am paying you for that massage.’
He picked up the notes and folded them into her right hand, then ran his hands down both sides of her face. ‘So beautiful,’ he said. ‘I’m a lucky man.’
He leaned forward and kissed her, his tongue probing hers.
‘Repeat after me: the fuck was free.’
‘Yes,’ she breathed. ‘It was.’
As she drove over to collect Freya the next morning, she could hardly focus on the road ahead. She hummed to herself, basking in the sensual wonder of the night before. Bill had worshipped at the temple of her body, his lips and hands prising open its secrets. She’d never felt so feminine.
Monika opened the door with a flourish, before Suzie had even knocked.
‘Hello, Suzie!’ She was uncharacteristically exuberant.
The image of Bill evaporated.
‘Hi, Monika. How’s Freya?’
‘Good, good.’ Monika’s tone was businesslike. ‘She’s just watching a Play School DVD.’
‘Oh.’ Suzie took a deep breath. How many times had she told Monika that she didn’t believe in exposing children under the age of three to television? And how many times had Monika nodded, as if she understood?
She followed Monika down the hallway.
‘She only woke up twice in the night for a feed,’ said Monika.
Only twice? For a feed? Suzie said nothing. For more than a month, Freya had been sleeping through until five-thirty in the morning. She’d only packed the frozen breast milk as an emergency measure.
She entered the lounge room. Freya was propped up on a large cushion in front of the television. The curtains were drawn and the light from the screen flickered across her face.
Suzie walked to the window and threw open the curtains. Sunlight streamed into the room.
‘Hello, sweetie, how are you?’
She walked over to the television and turned it off, then crouched down next to Freya.
‘Oh my God.’
She lifted Freya up, staring at her head, then rounded on Monika.
‘You cut her hair.’
‘Just a little.’
‘Just a little?’ Suzie’s voice trembled.
‘It was flopping in her eyes.’
Suzie scooped Freya off the cushion. ‘I didn’t want her hair cut,’ she said. ‘It wasn’t that long. And it’s my job to do it.’
She began to stride from room to room, gathering up Freya’s things. When Nils had walked out, Suzie had resigned herself to the fact that Freya would be the only child she’d ever have. She didn’t need Monika robbing her of precious first experiences that couldn’t be repeated.
In the kitchen, she retrieved the empty bottle and teat from the sink. As she stuffed them into a plastic bag, she noticed a tin of infant formula on the bench top. She stared at it, then wrenched opened the freezer door. Her two sachets of carefully expressed breast milk were still frozen, sitting upright next to the fish fingers.
‘They were too hard to defrost in the middle of the night,’ explained Monika.
Suzie turned, enraged.
‘And you just keep a tin of infant formula handy, do you?’
Monika knew how opposed Suzie was to complementary feeding; she’d sworn that no formula would ever pass Freya’s lips.
Suzie stormed to the front door, Freya on one hip and several bags slung across her shoulder.
‘I’ll help you to the car,’ offered Monika.
‘No, thank you.’
She slammed the front door behind her.
The next week at the mothers’ group, she told them the whole story. It was a bright summer’s morning in December, and the babies seemed fractious in the heat.
‘Monika cut Freya’s hair without asking you first?’ Cara repeated, incredulous.
‘And fed her formula,’ said Suzie, ‘when I’d specifically given her bags of expressed breast milk.’
‘God, that is a bit of a problem,’ said Cara. She waved at the barista behind the counter. ‘Another round of drinks, girls?’
The barista nodded at them. After so many mothers’ group meetings at Beachcombers, he practically knew their order by heart.
Suzie dabbed at her eyes with a tissue. Cara put an arm around her shoulder.
‘I shouldn’t be so upset,’ said Suzie. ‘It’s not like it’s totally out of character. This is the sort of stuff Monika does all the time, so I shouldn’t be surprised.’ She blew her nose. ‘I guess I was just hoping that things would be fine. Now I never want to leave Freya at her place again.’
‘Don’t worry, I can totally relate, Suze,’ said Miranda. ‘Willem’s mum keeps her distance most of the time. But when she visits, it’s hell on earth. She actually goes around sliding her finger along the tops of doorframes and showing me how dusty they are. And Willem’s no help, he just tells me to ignore it. Men always side with their mothers.’
‘Oh, Jesus,’ laughed Ginie. ‘What I wonder is, didn’t any of these women have mothers-in-law themselves?’
‘They’re not always so bad, Gin,’ said Cara. ‘My mother-in-law is quite nice, really, but we don’t get to see her very often. She’s too busy looking after Richard’s dad.’
‘He’s got Alzheimer’s, hasn’t he?’ said Miranda.
Cara nodded. ‘It doesn’t leave much room for grandchildren, unfortunately. My dad’s got it too. That’s how Richard and I met, actually—our mums both go to the same support group. Not the most romantic of first meetings, unlike Suzie here.’ Cara turned to her. ‘How’s it all going with Bill, anyway?’
Suzie tried to suppress her smile. She didn’t want to seem smug. ‘It’s great. We have a real connection.’
‘That’s good.’ Ginie laughed. ‘Because you’ll need it when you meet his mother.’
Suzie hadn’t even thought of it. Bill hadn’t mentioned his parents or any other extended family, apart from a sister with two sons. The idea that she might end up with two mothers-in-law was appalling, considering Monika’s track record.
Made cleared her throat. ‘My younger sister in Bali, her name Komang. She marry husband last month, now she live with mother of husband.’
Everybody groaned.
‘You’ve got to be kidding,’ said Ginie. ‘How old’s your sister, anyway?’
‘She seventeen now.’
‘And that’s legal?’
Made nodded. ‘In Bali, this is normal. Our culture say woman after marry must move in with husband family. Mother of husband help to raise children. Everyone in family compound help. Aunty, uncle, cousins.’ She tickled Wayan’s feet; he cackled his throaty, infectious giggle. ‘My sister Komang, she have less freedom now. Husband mother tell her what to do. She cook, she clean, she do many other thing for husband mother. In Australia, women very lucky.’
Suzie reddened, a little embarrassed by the comparison. Perhaps she’d overreacted to Monika’s behaviour.
‘It’s like that in other countries, too,’ added Cara. ‘I had an Indian friend at university whose sister was burned to death by her mother-in-law in a dowry murder.’
‘Christ,’ said Ginie, shaking her head. ‘What the hell are we bitching about, then?’
‘I really don’t know,’ snapped Pippa, out of the blue. Her eyes flashed. ‘There’s not much that any of you should be complaining about, as far as I can see. Healthy babies, working husbands, in-laws that help out. What more could you ask for?’ The bitterness in her voice was palpable.
No one spoke. Eyes darted from face to face, seeking direction from others.
Pippa’s cheeks were burning. Her hand shook as she stirred her coffee. Then suddenly she dropped the teaspoon into the saucer with a clatter. Tears began to slide down her face, dripping onto her shirt, the table, even Heidi. She pulled Heidi closer to her chest and buried her face in her hair.
Suzie looked around the table, alarmed. Everyone was shocked, that was clear, but still no one moved. If it had been anyone else in the group, Suzie might have reached out. But she could sense the anger seething beneath Pippa’s tears.
After what felt like an eternity, Cara leaned across the table and laid a gentle hand over Pippa’s.
Suzie exhaled. Thank God for Ca
ra.
‘Is everything okay?’ Cara asked quietly.
Pippa shook her head. Her shoulders were rounded, defeated.
‘I have to go into hospital in a fortnight’s time,’ she said finally. ‘I’ll be in for about a week and I don’t know how Robert will cope. I’ve never left him with Heidi for longer than two hours.’ She looked up, the tears starting anew. ‘I wish I had some in-laws, anyone, to call on.’
‘But we’ll help, of course,’ said Cara immediately. ‘Are you alright?’
Pippa blushed a deeper red.
‘I will be,’ she replied. ‘I have to have an operation . . . to repair the damage done when Heidi was born.’ She closed her eyes. ‘I had a bad tear. It made me incontinent.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Cara. She glanced around the group, as if looking for support. ‘I mean, I’m not the same down there either—Astrid stretched everything—but not to the point of incontinence. That must be awful.’
Pippa stared out at the playground. Heat haze rose from the sandpit.
‘I might as well tell you everything,’ she said. ‘I mean, why hide it anymore?’ Pippa pushed her oily hair behind her ears. ‘I’ve been incontinent since Heidi was born. I haven’t been able to control my bladder. Or my bowels.’
Suzie clapped a hand over her mouth. She’d heard that some women had pelvic floor issues after birth, but she’d just assumed that, like her, most bounced back unscathed.
‘I let it go too long,’ Pippa continued. ‘I kept thinking it was going to get better.’ She covered her face with her hands. ‘The doctors say it’s one of the reasons I got . . . post-natal depression.’
‘Oh.’ Suzie made the sound involuntarily. She’d never imagined that behind her thorny armour, Pippa was hiding this.
Pippa looked up at the sound. ‘Yes.’ She nodded at Suzie. ‘I’ve had trouble bonding with Heidi. It’s not been fair on her. But it’s hard to feel positive when you’re worried about changing your own nappy, let alone your baby’s.’ Pippa’s cheeks were scarlet, her eyes haunted.
Suzie felt terrible. She’d ignored the signs of Pippa’s distress; it had been too hard to connect with her. What would she do, she wondered, with a pelvic floor in tatters? She certainly wouldn’t be going out with Bill. The idea brought tears to her eyes.
The Mothers' Group Page 14
