by Averil Kenny
‘A simple phone call would have been enough.’
‘I wanted to come home, Sonny. That’s all. I needed to.’
Sonnet swallowed the lump of empathy which had risen unbidden. ‘Zephyr’s gone,’ she blurted. ‘We think snakebite. Plum hasn’t stopped sooking about it.’
Fable just stared at her – whether in disbelief or dismay, Sonnet couldn’t discern.
‘I have to go to the toilet,’ Fable said, rising abruptly.
Sonnet remained at the table, stewing, as she listened to the toilet flush, faucet squeal, a shower curtain rip closed and, at length, familiar footsteps creaking up the hallway to the sunroom for the first time in more than six months.
Sonnet straightened in her chair.
Wait for it . . .
A turning handle, then the gasp: ‘For God’s sake, Sonnet! What have you done to my room?!’
*
‘Fable’s home? You’re joking!’
‘Wish I was. She’s home, and adamant she’s not going back.’
Olive came out from behind her shop counter to stand before Sonnet, lowering her voice so the rotating radar ears over by the large floral prints had to readjust, in vain, their position.
‘But how did she even get home?’
‘Best as I could get out of her over breakfast, she caught the coach to Cairns, then thumbed a lift with perfect strangers in a Kombi.’
‘Fable, hitchhiking? The poor girl. Is she all right?’
‘She’s fine. Everything’s fine. It’s all going to be fine.’
Olive clucked. ‘I don’t believe it. What happened with her work?’
‘She was “homesick”. Brisbane apparently wasn’t for her . . .’
‘Bless her soul.’
‘No blessing her anything!’ Sonnet whispered fiercely. ‘She has to go back, and I won’t rest until she does!’
‘Oh, Sonnet. You haven’t been hounding her again already, have you?’
‘I’m not a monster. She got the first night off. But I’m shutting shop early today so I can get right back into it. I’ll have her packed and on the next train out of here.’
‘Don’t you dare!’
‘I will so.’
‘You’re terrible. I won’t let you.’
‘If Fable didn’t want to be nagged, she shouldn’t have come home.’
‘She wouldn’t have come home if she didn’t feel safe here.’
‘Safe from what – adulthood? Responsibility? Success?’
‘Balderdash. She must have good reason for limping quietly home. I’m going to knock off early myself today. I can’t wait to give our Fable a big cuddle.’
*
Well, Sonnet would just cut her off at the pass. She had a few stern lectures on resilience and never, never giving up to impart before blasted Olive got there oozing grace and welcoming.
Sonnet was home by three, but Fable was not in the cottage, or at Heartwood. A snoop through the already trashed sunroom only elevated Sonnet’s ire – it was like she’d never even left! If Madam Backtrack thought this was going to work, she was sorely mistaken.
Stuck in a time warp and needing to alleviate her Fable-wrought frustration the only way she knew how, Sonnet donned her sandshoes and hurtled off along the creek-side path.
Darkrise was on the move and the forest was steeped in shadow, all the bright gold of the spring day sliding down the riverbank, to gild the creek. The effect was of racing alongside molten lava as it coursed through verdant jungle.
Sonnet ran hard over roots and rocks, ridges and ruts, hard as ever she had, halted only by her stomach’s revolt against her pounding legs, and a stitch in her side; like a reopened wound. She came to a reluctant, heaving rest against a giant blue quandong tree. Sweat flooded from Sonnet’s pores as she stomped the berries underfoot with an inexhaustible fury.
The rush of a nearby waterfall promised hydration, drawing her closer. Someone was already swimming below, Sonnet realised too late, as she came out onto a rotting, cantilevered cubby platform. She panted quietly, waiting for the swimmer to emerge beneath her.
Aha! Found you, Sonnet thought as a strawberry mane fanned out behind the figure stroking across the golden pool. She should have known Fable would be hiding in the creek. And what serendipity! Now Sonnet would block Fable’s exit, and they’d thrash it out here, once and for all. Sonnet melted back into the cubby gloom, heart rate slowing, to wait.
You’ve got no idea what’s coming for you, Fabes.
Her sister was bathed in light, the amber glow seeming to emanate from the depths below. Back still turned, Fable rose out of the pool to squeegee water from her hair. Her white shirt floated about her sylph-like form, refracted light surrounding her like wings. How long Fable’s hair had grown – it tumbled down her back, dissolving into liquefied light. Even Sonnet’s unromantic heart could not help being moved. Fable was a waterborne faerie, straight out of her book.
Sonnet felt a covetous ache – not for Fable’s beauty, but her talent. Oh for the skills to capture such loveliness as this. How could anyone let it go to waste? Sonnet wouldn’t let her!
Her resolution was interrupted by Fable’s submergence. In a single, gleaming streak, she crossed the bottom of the pool in Sonnet’s direction. Propping her elbows on the rocky edge, Fable drew a shuddering breath. Sonnet took one of her own. In another second, Fable would look up, spy her lurking sister, and then the haranguing, from both sides, would begin . . .
But Fable rose from the water with eyes still cast down. Eyes fixed upon her own wet form, explicitly outlined, and revealing all: her full, heavy breasts, and the high, protuberant curvature of her belly.
Fable Hamilton was lush with child.
PART THREE
‘She hoped to be wise and reasonable in time; but alas! Alas! She must confess to herself that she was not wise yet.’
Jane Austen, Persuasion
CHAPTER 35
GRAVID
S
onnet couldn’t remember how she got back to the cottage. Her last cognisant action, before abandoning rational thought, had been to hide. She’d crouched down in that cubbyhouse, waiting for Fable to finish drying her unfathomably changed body, and leave. And after that – who knew which path she’d traversed home?
She ascended the cottage steps as a gaping sleepwalker. Fable was already inside, the shower running. Sonnet sank to the couch, shaking her head to cast off the nightmare.
It was Fable’s humming while she bathed, which finally shattered Sonnet’s trance. Humming, like she had no concept of her own predicament! Humming like a child, not as one illegitimately with child!
Up the hallway Sonnet stormed, banging open the bathroom door without knocking.
Fable screamed, clutching the shower curtain to her body. ‘What are you doing? Get out!’
The clinging plastic curtain was no protection. The dark areolae of her nipples, thatch of pubic hair and prominent belly were starkly visible.
‘Shut the door!’
‘What the hell, Fable!’
Fable clambered from the claw-foot to fly at her – a tribal fertility statue springing to combative life. For a moment, Sonnet thought she might tear her face off. It was the door she was after, though. Screaming an illegible curse, Fable flung it shut. Sonnet offered no counter-resistance as the lock turned in her face.
From the other side of the door came sobbing.
Sonnet pummelled the wood. ‘How could you be so bloody stupid, Fable! What were you thinking?!’
‘Sonnet!’
Olive, aghast, came charging through the front door, with Gav and Plum on her heels. ‘What’s all this screaming? Leave her alone!’
‘Like hell I will!’ Sonnet hollered, spinning on Olive. ‘Do you want to know what she’s done?’
‘Sonnet Hamilton, get a grip of yourself – this instant!’ It was more commanding a tone than Olive had ever taken with her. ‘You’ve got no right: she’s her own person!’
Sonnet la
ughed; a harsh bark. ‘Oh, she’s more than one person now!’
Sobs intensified in the bathroom.
Olive, green eyes glistening, stepped as a buffer between the girls. ‘You’re out of line! Move away!’
‘You can’t lock yourself in there forever, Fable!’ Sonnet called over Olive’s shoulder. ‘You’re going to have to come out here and tell them, too.’
Olive hustled her towards the lounge. ‘How could you be so cruel? I told you this was not the way to talk to that little girl.’
‘She’s not so little anymore,’ Sonnet remonstrated. ‘But, by all means, keep lecturing me. You’ll see for yourself!’
Plum’s tear-stained cheeks caught Sonnet’s eye. ‘Actually, on second thoughts, Gav, you should take Plummy back to Heartwood. This is no place for her right now.’
Gav had ears only for his wife. ‘What’s going on here, Olive?’
‘It’s only a sisters’ tiff, my love. One I tried to warn Sonnet off—’
‘It’s much bigger than a childish fight, but you’re not listening to me.’
‘For pity’s sake! Would you—’
Olive’s crossness, Gav’s consternation, Plum’s frightened tremble, none of it mattered now. At the end of the hallway, the bathroom door scraped open.
Four heads swivelled to watch as Fable appeared, wrapped in a green towel. Along the hallway she came towards them, eyes not leaving her feet. The towel, tucked into her bosom, too short on her thighs, still managed from the front to conceal the shelf of her belly. Gav cleared his throat uncomfortably and moved to leave.
When she was yet a few feet away, Fable paused. She lifted her eyes, and Sonnet grimaced at the fear laid bare on her face.
Fable turned to stand side on. Where her waist, whippet thin, should have been, was the blatant protrusion of advancing pregnancy.
‘Oh my dear girl,’ Olive said, moving to envelop a sobbing Fable in her arms. ‘My dear girl.’ She motioned over Fable’s head for Gav, who joined her in two quick steps. Around wife and niece, swept his big arms.
‘You’re safe,’ Olive crooned. ‘You’re safe here. It’s all going to be okay.’
The front door thumped closed as Plum disappeared into the garden.
*
‘Is she asleep?’ asked Sonnet, looking up from her untouched plate as Olive slumped wearily into her seat at the Heartwood table. Gav’s plate wasn’t much emptier.
‘Yes. Finally. She’s all cried out. I had to pat her back to help her go to sleep.’
‘Like a baby,’ Sonnet said.
Gav clucked and pushed his chair away to stand on the veranda, his back to the women. Moonshine lay over the newly sprouted canefields, and on the train tracks. A dog howled distantly. Giant jungle moths butted at the light.
‘Sonnet, you have to go gently on her. We won’t make it through another day like today. You’ve got to lay off!’
Sonnet snorted.
Unexpectedly, Olive burst into tears, dropping her head onto the table. Gav came quickly to her side, big hands diving into the gaps between shoulder and neck, steadying her.
Sonnet looked away, teeth fastening on her tongue.
‘I’m sorry,’ Olive said, after an achingly full moment. She leaned back, airing her eyes. ‘I don’t mean to be melodramatic. But she’s the spitting image of Esther. She’s even carrying the same way!’
‘She’s not Esther,’ Gav said gravely.
‘No, she’s not,’ Olive agreed. ‘She’s an adult, for a start.’
‘Barely,’ Sonnet interjected.
‘And they have proper support for unmarried mothers these days,’ Olive said, ignoring her. ‘Fable won’t have to scrape by, like Es had to. And she’s got us. This time, she’s got us.’
‘And she’s got choices,’ Sonnet said, meeting their eyes straight on.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘It means don’t go counting chickens before they hatch.’
Olive’s eyes narrowed. ‘In the eyes of God, every life is unique and precious.’
‘Oh sure,’ Sonnet replied. ‘Until said unique, precious life refuses to follow the script, then He prefers fire and brimstone, actually!’
Gav cocked his head. ‘There will be no reproach here for Fable.’
‘Doesn’t mean she doesn’t have choices.’
‘You’re not making any sense,’ Olive said. ‘And you won’t lay another unkind word on that girl. Not under my roof.’
She’s still got to come and get all her rubbish from under my roof, though.
‘Did she tell you anything?’ Sonnet asked.
Olive pursed her lips.
‘Come on, Olive. She’s withholding enough for all of us. Don’t you start!’
‘I got out of her that she’s just over six months along.’
‘Six months,’ Sonnet mused, calculating quickly. ‘So it can’t be Marco Lagorio’s then.’
‘Marco’s? They’re just friends! Why would you think—’
‘He’s the only boy who ever hung out with her in Noah, but it doesn’t work for her dates.’
‘In any case, she said it was just something that happened, on her tour. That it didn’t . . . mean anything.’
Gav left the table abruptly. The women watched his thumping progress down the stoop, into the cane.
‘Dear,’ Olive sighed. ‘I should go after him.’
‘Why? Because he can’t bear the idea of his precious Fable being sexually active? That’s not the issue here, Olive. The problem is she didn’t do it safely and now she’s gone and jeopardised everything she’s worked so hard for – everything she deserves. It was a careless blunder to make.’
Olive lapsed into a lip-chewing silence.
‘And what else did she say?’
‘That’s it. She didn’t say much. I mean, it’s Fable. To be honest, I think this pregnancy is a little traumatic for her, I’m worried this baby might be the result of . . . coercion.’
‘Rape?!’ Sonnet’s nails raked the table.
‘No, no! I didn’t say that.’
‘I’ll kill the sonofabitch!’
Olive tutted. ‘Language, please.’
Sonnet drew herself up. ‘I mean it. I bloody will!’
‘She’s plainly not going to tell us who the father is, so you can stop being so dramatic.’
‘I’ll get it out of her!’
‘You’ll leave her alone.’
‘And it’s just one? She looks big enough to be carrying twins.’
‘Yes, she’s all belly, isn’t she. Well, this part will rile you up – she hasn’t had any antenatal care!’
‘She hasn’t even seen a doctor?!’
‘No. She’s been in denial, obviously. This is what I mean about it being traumatic for her. I suspect she wanted it to stay a secret forever, maybe pretend it wasn’t happening.’
‘At least she was thinking sensibly on one count. No point telling anyone and risking her career if she’s just going to—’ Sonnet withheld the rest of her sentence.
‘Going to what?’ Olive’s face was as hard as stone.
‘Make her own choices, that’s all.’
‘Not under my roof, Sonnet.’
‘Yes, we’ve already established that.’
Sonnet recalled Plum’s disappearance earlier in the afternoon with a start. ‘And what about Plum? Is she all right now?’
Olive sighed. ‘I think so. It’s hard to tell with Plum, she’s always so emotional lately. It was overwhelming for her seeing Fable like that, and you girls screaming at each other like banshees didn’t help! You’ve got to tone it down. You know how sensitive she is at the moment.’
‘You need to explain sex and babies to her now, too.’
‘Plum already understands how babies are created. I talked to her a while ago.’
Sonnet found herself smiling. ‘Seriously? Well done, Olive! I’m proud of you.’
Olive came close to a smile herself. ‘I’m trying, my d
ear. Between us, we’ll have to figure this out somehow. We’re a team here, I want you to remember that.’
Yes, a team, Sonnet thought. And every team needs a captain . . .
CHAPTER 36
GREAT EXPECTATIONS
T
he doctor’s receptionist, Edna Parker, was glaring at Sonnet around the potted rhapis palms. Hadn’t stopped glaring at her since the moment she’d arrived in Dr Herbert’s Main Street rooms, as the first patient of the day. Admittedly, Sonnet had all but screamed ‘medical emergency!’ when she called for an appointment the afternoon previous, while shamelessly refusing to disclose said medical issue to the receptionist herself – cardinal sin in this place.
Frankly, if Edna kept that death stare up, Sonnet might drive north for a doctor anyway. The narky old bat! It was only the memory of Dr Herbert’s soothing grandfatherly manner when she’d brought Plummy in for her immunisations that kept her sitting here in this tiny waiting room . . .
Edna stood with obtuse leisureliness and entered Dr Herbert’s consultation room. Sonnet focused on the hands gripping each other on her lap, and went over her spiel once more.
Friend – pregnant – unmarried – career – too young – options?
Edna appeared again. ‘The doctor will see you now.’
Sonnet sprang to her feet, straightening her pantsuit and cinching her belt. She squeezed by the receptionist monopolising the doorway, with a beatific smile. Far from thawing, Edna only hardened. Sonnet couldn’t help herself: she gave Edna a petulant wave, and firmly pulled the door closed in her face.
‘Thanks for seeing me on such short notice, Dr Herbert,’ Sonnet said, turning to the bulky wood desk.
But it wasn’t the black-rimmed glasses, phlegmatic cough and substantial girth of Dr Herbert that greeted her. The man getting to his feet and coming out from behind his desk with hand extended was far too young to be a real doctor. Brown hair and eyes, tallness and strength, and a chiselled parenthesis at the lips bespeaking a ready smile; all registered in her baulking mind.
She halted, dismay evident, and his hand fell politely to his side.
‘What have you done with Dr Herbert?!’
He turned to his desk with alarm, pretending to shuffle frantically through his papers. ‘Now where did I put him?’
