A Family of Strangers, page 26
‘I know you do,’ Henry said carefully. ‘But expecting a thirteen-year-old to cook for herself …’
‘I don’t expect that,’ Steph said firmly. ‘I have no problem with her being vegan, but I’m not adding cooking three meals each night to my already overloaded life.’
‘You cook different food for Monty,’ Henry said. ‘Why is this different?’
‘Monty’s barely three! Zoe’s being wilfully difficult, but if you’re worried she isn’t eating properly then you take over the cooking. That’s fine by me. It’s one less interruption in a day already filled with them!’
Henry snorted. ‘Here we go! Why do you think you have the monopoly on being interrupted? If the internet isn’t screwing up my plans, I’ve got clients or head office ringing me every ten minutes. It’s reached breaking point. We have to bite the bullet and spend eleven thousand dollars to have fibre to the premises installed so we have fast and reliable internet.’
Before now, Henry had only ever said ‘the big bucks’. She stared at him. ‘Eleven thousand dollars?’ It hurt to say it. ‘That’s a huge chunk of our savings.’
‘I know, but what choice do we have? We’ve tried everything and the technicians are out of suggestions on how to make it reliable, let alone improving the speed. It’s completely insane that we’re driving into town or to the highway to access reception. You’re trying to start a business and head office is fed up with my unreliability with video conferencing. Believe me, it will cost us a lot more if I have to travel back to the mainland once a week.’
Steph stared out the window towards the majestic mountain that was the cause of their internet woes. How had they arrived at this point, so very far from the life they’d conjured for themselves that day on the beach? A volcano of emotions erupted, swamping her in frustration and fury.
‘This isn’t what you promised, Henry! Winter’s only just started and Monty’s sick. There’s no freakin’ childcare. Joanna dumped Zoe on us and now she’s ghosting you. I lost the baby and what if I can’t get pregnant again? You said living here would be stress free, but look at us!’
Monty, who’d settled quietly on Henry’s shoulder, burst into tears at her shouting.
‘Shh, buddy, it’s okay,’ Henry said, giving Steph a perplexed look. ‘Mummy’s just a bit tired and overwrought.’
‘I’m not bloody overwrought!’
Henry didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. She’d heard her shrewish yell and felt the agony of hopelessness boring through her. Battling tears, she swiped at her eyes with the backs of her hands and tried not to completely fall apart.
Henry stepped in close and hugged her, sandwiching Monty between them. Her little boy’s soft and warm body steadied her.
‘How about you go down to Sven’s, grab a coffee and spend an hour in the shed cutting out penguins?’ Henry said. ‘I’ll mind Monty.’
She knew she should stand her ground and make him understand how far they’d strayed from their utopia. Call him out that as he was Monty’s father, he was co-parenting, not minding him. Point out that very attitude was the source of so much of her discontent. However, she recognised the look in Henry’s eyes and knew that until she’d calmed down he’d refuse to engage. But mostly, it was the thought of an hour on her own that called like a siren song.
Her phone beeped with a reminder. There was no time for coffee or work. ‘Oh, hell! We’ve completely forgotten our appointment with the gynaecologist.’
‘I don’t think Monty should be dragged to Burnie. If you leave now you’ll make it. Doctors always run late.’ Henry handed her the car keys and kissed her on the cheek. ‘Drive carefully.’
When Steph arrived at the specialists’ rooms at the private hospital, the receptionist explained that Doctor Sharma was delivering a baby.
‘There’s tea and coffee and iced water.’ She indicated a drinks station. ‘Help yourself then take a seat.’
Steph used the time to check and answer emails. The good news was there were more orders for circus people and penguins. Exactly how she was going to manage to deliver on the promised timeline and sleep was a problem for another day. Instead, she focused on solving other issues—completing an online chat with her insurance company, ordering more timber and calling Alan.
The most surprising communication was a text from Ben Burton—he wanted more tractors. Didn’t he know that she and Courtney weren’t talking?
She suddenly knew exactly how to get more time to make toys.
Hi, Ben, I’m so glad the tractors are selling for you. Let me know if you want any wooden fruits as well. I can make all the berries. I have to work all weekend, which is boring for everyone, so I was wondering if I could take you up on the offer to show Henry and the kids around the farm?
She signed off and hit send. Suck on that, Courtney.
‘Stephanie. Sorry to have kept you waiting.’
She glanced up from her phone and saw Nira Sharma beckoning her.
‘Was it a boy or a girl?’ Steph forced herself to ask as she followed the doctor into the consulting room.
‘A little boy.’ Nira sat behind her desk. ‘How are you?’
Steph laced her hands. ‘Oh, you know. Up and down.’
The doctor nodded. ‘The weeks and months after a miscarriage are not easy.’
‘Any idea when the empty feeling might go away?’ Steph asked, even though she knew there wasn’t a definitive answer. That there were no rules. No timeline. Oh, how she wished there was.
Sympathy crossed the doctor’s face. ‘Are you and Henry still wanting to conceive?’
‘Very much. We want Monty to have a sibling.’
Nira glanced at her computer screen. ‘He has an older sister, yes?’ ‘A half-sister,’ Steph corrected. A half-sister who ignores him. ‘We want him to have a sibling closer to his own age.’
‘Of course,’ Nira said smoothly as she clicked some keys. ‘You mentioned at your last visit that it had taken you over a year to conceive your last pregnancy.’
‘That’s right. You suggested I have some blood tests.’
‘I did and I have the results.’
Something about the way the doctor said the words made Steph sit up a little straighter. ‘And?’
‘I’m afraid the hormones responsible for ovulation are a bit hit and miss. This may be part of the reason why it took you so long to conceive last time. It can happen when we get older.’
Indignation rippled. ‘I’m hardly old.’
Nira smiled. ‘I’m talking in reproductive terms. Fertility starts to decline in your mid-thirties. Looking at these results, I’m not convinced you would have ovulated this month.’
The words pushed unease through her. She knew enough that not ovulating meant not getting pregnant. ‘You said part of the problem. What else is a problem?’
‘It takes two to make a baby so before we treat you, we need to rule out Henry having any issues too. We’ll do a sperm count and if that comes back within normal limits, we’ll look at assisting your ovulation with medication.’
Steph’s heart rate picked up. ‘And if Henry has a problem?’
‘Given your age, I’d refer you to the IVF clinic.’
IVF? Pregnancy in a Petri dish. Steph sat back, stunned. Back in Melbourne, she’d ridden the tram past an IVF clinic each day to and from work. She’d watched the women with strain on their faces get off at the stop with a certain degree of smugness, secure in the knowledge that all her bits worked. Not once, not even when she was pregnant and those women had cast their eyes away from her, had she stopped to consider pregnancy and babies from their perspective. And now she might be one of them. Infertile.
She swallowed past a lump in her throat. ‘Does Burnie have an IVF clinic?’
‘No. It’s in Launceston.’
Launceston was a ninety-minute drive away.
‘Every time the media mentions IVF it sounds expensive.’
Nira’s shoulders lifted slightly. ‘There’s some Medicare rebate, but yes, the out-of-pocket expenses are in the thousands.’
Steph thought of the eleven thousand dollars to get fast and reliable internet connected and pictured hundred-dollar bills from their nest egg blowing in the wind, far, far away from her. It was another reason her online business needed to be nurtured so it could grow and refill their bank account.
‘But let’s not get ahead of ourselves,’ Nira continued. ‘Hopefully it will be as simple as you taking some clomifene to nudge your ovaries along. Tell Henry to pop in next time he’s in town to do the sperm test. We have a private room and we can get the specimen to the lab quickly.’
‘Why do the guys get to have all the fun?’ Steph joked lamely.
‘I’ll call you when I have the results and we’ll go from there.’
Nira rose to her feet. Clearly the appointment was over.
Steph rose too, smiled and said ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’. She chatted to the receptionist about the weather, paid her bill, and slid the trifolds about sperm testing and ovulation induction into her handbag as if they were glossy tourist information brochures about places she wanted to visit.
She reassured herself that Henry’s swimmers would be fit and fast. The tablets would shake an egg from her ovaries and they’d make a baby. Everything was going to be fine.
She drove home through a veil of tears.
CHAPTER
28
It had been a rough week. Rougher than Addy had expected, despite the sage advice from the online support group she’d joined—Sober Country Women, known as SCW. Steph had suggested Addy join AA, but AA in the country wasn’t the anonymous event it was in a large city. Addy preferred a single-sex group so together they’d searched the internet and found SCW. She’d been relieved when a member had contacted her twenty minutes after she sent a tentative message.
Addy had wanted to visit Brenda and Marilyn immediately, but SCW advised against rushing.
You’re still hungover. Also, it takes up to a week for the alcohol to be totally out of your system and your body will fight its absence. Don’t add more stress on top of that. Wait until you’re in a better mental place.
Addy hated the thought of waiting, but on that life-altering Sunday she knew she wasn’t up to facing anyone. After Steph had pre-prepared her lunch and dinner and returned to Four Winds with promises to call three times that day, Addy had contacted the dropkick bloke who’d uploaded the video on Facebook. She’d donated five hundred dollars to his favourite charity—himself—to take it down. But she wasn’t stupid; she knew there was a chance he’d upload it again in the future and try to blackmail her, so she’d created a file of all their correspondence and backed it up on a thumb drive. If there was a next time, she’d involve the police.
She’d also ignored some of the SCW advice, justifying to herself that Brenda and Marilyn needed to know she was now aware of what she’d done and how she ached with regret. She’d emailed them but hadn’t received a reply.
On Monday, she’d gone to work as normal and proceeded to put in five fourteen-hour days, keen to be out of the cove from seven in the morning until nine at night. Thankfully Grant was in Hobart for the week so she was able to file ‘drunk sex with your boss again’ under ‘stupid’ and ‘deal with it later’. By some miracle, no student or colleague appeared to have seen the Facebook video.
The days were long and she was challenged not only by sobriety but by exhaustion. Each night it took her forever to fall asleep, and then sleep abandoned her at four every morning. She’d taken to power-walking in the dark, trying to quell the skittering agitation that was a permanent companion. By two in the afternoon, when she needed to be alert for her students, all she wanted to do was curl up and nap. The temptation to drink a double espresso or down a caffeine-loaded energy drink was almost as hard to resist as wine, but drinking caffeine in the afternoon only exacerbated her sleep problems.
On the Wednesday as she struggled to fall asleep, she experienced a horrifying moment of clarity—exactly when was the last time she’d fallen asleep sober? She couldn’t remember.
To stay sober and to get around her low energy levels she settled on sugar—she was stuffing confectionary snakes in her mouth every afternoon and evening. Another addiction? Possibly, but she’d worry about dealing with it when she was sleeping better. The SCW were correct—there was only so much she could cope with in early sobriety without sinking completely. It was enough just to make it through each day. One day at a time was her mantra and she clung to it as tightly as Dorothy clutching Toto in the twister.
On Friday night, after a ten-hour work day and a long walk in the bush, Addy finally managed to fall asleep at nine and blessedly slept until six.
She wouldn’t say she felt like a new woman—far from it. It turned out being well-rested was a double-edged sword. The mind fog and the mud-sucking fatigue that came with a daily hangover had vanished, but her new clarity of thought brought into focus many of the reasons she drank. Without alcohol to numb them, they danced and spun continuously, unnerving her.
‘What about talking to a professional?’ Steph had suggested on one of her nightly visits.
‘At the moment staying sober’s my priority,’ Addy said firmly.
‘Yes, but …’ Steph’s brows pulled into a sharp V. ‘Isn’t it all connected?’
It was too difficult to explain that until she learned how to stay sober, she couldn’t risk delving into dark places.
Now, ten days alcohol-free, she could hardly claim she was longterm sober, but she was clear-headed—the first requirement of an honest apology. Addy sat in her car studying a mixed bunch of hyacinths—blue, pink and white. According to the internet, hyacinths were apology flowers and represented an intention of making peace. Addy needed every symbol of remorse at her disposal when she faced Brenda and Marilyn.
Steph had offered to accompany her, but Addy knew she needed to do this on her own. She had, however, accepted Steph’s offer to stand with her later tonight to provide silent support when Addy faced the fire-breathing dragon that would be the choir.
The urge to have one drink, just to take the edge off her stress, hammered hard in her veins.
One glass. You know you want it.
‘Lah, lah lah!’ she sang to the windshield.
She picked up her phone, brought up the SCW app and typed.
I’m outside the house of the people whose personal situation I shared without permission when I was fall-down drunk. Right now I’m sober and everything’s vivid and hugely real. More real than it’s been in a long time. I want to apologise to them. I need to do this, but my body’s screaming for a drink. Help!
The words someone’s typing appeared, followed by: One step at a time, Addy. Walk to the door and ring the bell. We’re with you
Addy picked up the flowers and got out of the car. She’d agonised over whether she should have made an appointment to see Brenda and Marilyn or just rock up. Eventually she’d decided that there was no good time so with a ‘rip the band-aid off’ attitude, she’d left work early to do all the face-to-face apologies on the same day. Now it seemed like a reckless decision.
Quit choir. You were always going to anyway and I’m far more fun, her craving taunted.
She reached the front door and rang the bell, rehearsing what she’d say while she waited. When Brenda opened the door, Addy’s mouth and her words dried. She thrust the flowers forward.
‘Addy.’ Brenda neither smiled nor accepted the hyacinths. ‘You look tired.’
‘So do you.’
Brenda gave a wry smile. ‘I suppose you’d better come in.’ She turned and walked down the hall.
Addy followed her into a light and airy kitchen and tried again with the flowers. ‘These are for you and Marilyn. Is she here?’
‘I’m here,’ a voice said behind her.
She turned and Marilyn gave her a nod, but she didn’t accept the flowers either. Addy placed them on the table.
‘Thank you for inviting me in. I wasn’t sure—’
‘Tea or coffee?’ Brenda asked.
She didn’t want to be difficult and ask for caffeine-free tea so she said, ‘A glass of water would be lovely.’
‘Take a seat.’
Brenda poured three glasses of water while Marilyn sliced a lemon. Addy’s heart pounded hard and fast, thumping in her ears like the beat of a drum.
‘I’m sorry,’ she blurted out the moment the glasses were set down on maple coasters. ‘There’s no excuse for what I did.’
‘No,’ Marilyn said. ‘There really isn’t. You hurt a lot of people.’
Addy couldn’t tell if Marilyn was talking about her and Brenda’s family or the choir. Probably both.
‘I know I let the choir down and I’ll apologise to them tonight. But I feel what I did to you and Brenda was so much worse. I wanted to apologise to you both first. Privately … for saying what I said.’ She swallowed hard and forced out the words. ‘Unfortunately, I can’t remember exactly what I said, but Steph—’
‘“Brenda and Marilyn being lesbians”,’ Brenda said quietly.
‘We prefer the term queer,’ Marilyn said.
Brenda made a strangled sound and Marilyn sighed. ‘It’s more inclusive.’
The correction seemed out of context and it threw Addy. ‘Um, right. Okay. But just so you know, I don’t ever plan to tell anyone again.’
‘There’s really no one else left to tell,’ Brenda said wearily.
‘The video pretty much did the job,’ Marilyn added.
‘I got it taken down,’ Addy said.
‘Well, it was pretty damning for you,’ Marilyn said.
‘No, I …’ Being sober wasn’t helping Addy work out what was going on. There was a layer of tension in the room she was certain had nothing to do with her, and Marilyn’s comments were muddying what she’d thought would be a straightforward apology.
Addy gazed at Brenda’s drawn face. ‘I got the video taken down for you. To make amends. You’ve always been kind to me, to Mum …’ She blinked rapidly, unable to discuss her mother on top of everything else. ‘I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t set out to intentionally hurt you, your family, Courtney …’ Her throat thickened and she cleared it. ‘If I could turn back time I would.’
