Let Her Go Page 5

  ‘Yeah, but Dad, it’s not easy. By the time a child’s been fostered in dozens of families, not to mention the abuse or neglect that got them there in the first place, they’ve often got issues.’

  Martin moved his chair back into the shade, which had shifted as the sun dropped lower. ‘But not all kids up for adoption have been abused or neglected, love. Maybe their parents have died or something.’

  ‘That’s still a huge trauma for a kid, Dad.’

  Martin nodded, then looked down at his feet. Nadia watched him out of the corner of her eye. He never spoke about her mum. But she knew he still thought about her, particularly at moments such as this. She knew he wasn’t looking at his shoes, the tiny green shoots of onion grass sprouting up between the patio bricks, the trail of ants tramping across the ground. He was seeing Hilary. Did he see Hilary as his young wife, happy, vibrant, laughing? Or did he see her in her final days, fading in a hospital bed? Nadia wished she could remember her mother. She glanced at Rosemary and her face flushed with guilt. Rosemary had always been there, trying to fill the space left by Hilary’s death, but despite her best efforts, had never quite succeeded.

  ‘Martin. Could you pass me the chips, please?’ Rosemary’s voice was a little too loud, her smile strained.

  Martin looked up, startled, then slid the bowl over the table towards Rosemary.

  Rosemary took a chip, ate half of it, then spoke. ‘Anyway, Zoe won’t hear of it right now, but I think surrogacy might be her best option.’

  ‘Surely the process would be just as complicated as adoption – more, even,’ Eddie said, frowning.

  Rosemary shrugged. ‘It happens all the time these days. I was reading about it in a magazine last week, a gay man bought eggs from Thailand and then used two different surrogates in India and got twins!’ Nadia noticed Rosemary glance at her before she continued in a casual tone. ‘The problem is, it’s illegal to pay someone to act as a surrogate here, so she’d need to find someone who’d do it for altruistic reasons, or else go overseas, which is very expensive.’

  ‘I can’t imagine many people would volunteer to do it,’ Martin said.

  Rosemary glared at him. ‘I’d do it in a heartbeat if I could.’

  Nadia shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, there’s not much point in us talking about this. It’s her decision, hers and Lachlan’s. And, to be honest, it sounded to me like she was pretty final. I can’t imagine them wanting to go through the stress of all that anytime soon.’

  Rosemary wiped a drop of wine from the side of her glass with her finger. ‘But just imagine, Nadia. Imagine that you never got to experience having Charlotte, or Violet, or Harry. How would that feel?’

  Nadia flinched. She had imagined how it would feel, over and over. She didn’t need to be reminded. She had spent her adolescence being told how lucky she was to be the healthy one who didn’t have to be in and out of hospital or take medications with terrible side effects as her sister did. Nadia looked over at Harry, pottering around in the sandpit, and her face burned as she felt unmistakable relief that she wasn’t Zoe.

  ‘I can’t imagine,’ she mumbled. ‘Oh, Harry, don’t eat the sand!’ She stood up and hurried over to her son so she didn’t have to look at her stepmother and consider what she was suggesting.

  * * *

  ‘Daddy!’

  Nadia looked up from folding the washing as Charlotte ran out of the room towards the front door. She saw the pink netting of her daughter’s fairy dress disappear down the hallway, then heard her squeal and laugh as Eddie greeted her. Nadia picked up the piles of folded clothes from the couch, put them in the basket and balanced it on her hip as she opened the laundry door, then shoved it inside. She closed the door behind her, quickly untied her ponytail and combed her fingers through her hair, then surveyed the house. To her left, the kitchen wasn’t too bad: an open carton of milk; coloured plastic plates with half-eaten muffins; the girls’ lunchboxes next to the sink waiting to be emptied. In front of her, the ash dining table was covered with colouring books and pencils. The girls’ schoolbags were abandoned on the floor, and Harry’s toys were strewn around the room.

  Eddie walked down the hallway carrying Harry in one arm, the other holding Charlotte’s hand. Violet skipped along behind him waving her magic wand. Nadia couldn’t help but smile at the joy on the children’s faces at being with their father.

  In the first few days after she and Eddie had heard about Zoe and Lachlan’s infertility, they had felt a renewed closeness to each other, both consciously cherishing their relationship and the children. Their affection towards each other had seemed less cursory, more spontaneous, but as the weeks had passed, they had drifted back to routine. It wasn’t just Eddie – Nadia was aware that she too had slipped back into the tangle of her children, her home, wishing each day would end so that she could have some peace, some time to herself. But she kept catching herself, reminding herself that this knot of children and chores that she was entwined in was what life was. And that no matter how tired she was, Charlotte, Violet and Harry made her laugh every day, and when their skinny, smooth little arms hugged her at bedtime, she knew that this life she had chosen, as a mother, was more important than anything else. And then she would think of Zoe.

  Nadia had meant to call Zoe today, but had run out of time – again. In the first few weeks after the party, she and Zoe had talked every day, met for lunch, gone for long walks together while Nadia did what she could to support her. But more recently, Zoe seemed to be coping better, and Nadia had stopped making the effort. Her face flushed with guilt; she would definitely call Zoe tomorrow. She knew her sister would still be struggling.

  ‘You’re home early!’ she said, as Eddie put Harry down.

  Eddie nodded. ‘I thought you’d be happy.’

  ‘I didn’t say I wasn’t.’

  ‘I thought I’d come back first. Dinner’s not until eight.’

  ‘Dinner?’

  ‘Remember, I told you? I’m going out tonight. The guys are over from Singapore.’

  ‘You didn’t tell me. I wish —’

  ‘Yes I did! I told you last week.’

  He hadn’t, she was sure. She didn’t forget things like that. She spoke slowly, trying to stay calm. ‘Well, I don’t remember you telling me.’ She pointed to the whiteboard on the kitchen wall, where she updated the week’s activities every Sunday night. ‘Maybe next time you could write it on the timetable.’

  He raised his eyebrows, smiling a little.

  Nadia shook her head and smiled back. ‘Fine. I was going to get takeaway for us anyway. Take the kids outside on the trampoline for a while so I can get their dinner on.’

  ‘OK, I’ll just get changed.’

  Nadia started cleaning up while Eddie marshalled the kids. What would happen if Eddie came home one night and she told him without warning that she was off to have dinner with friends? Why did he think that he could just make plans without discussing them with her? He assumed she had nothing better to do, that of course she would look after the children while he did whatever he wanted. It was his job: that was always his trump card. What could she say to that? He was the earner, he had to work, and that involved going out to dinner, making overseas phone calls late at night and early in the morning, and travelling around the world.

  Eddie rarely said it out loud, but they both knew that Nadia had wanted to give up her job when they had children, so she had also given up the right to complain. She’d always planned to go back to work when Charlotte was six months old. But when the days and weeks rushed by and Charlotte grew before her eyes, the thought of leaving her in a daycare centre to compete with other babies for attention filled Nadia with fear. She was a psychologist; she knew how important that first year was, and having grown up without her own mother, she wanted to make sure that she and Charlotte had the relationship that she and Hilary had never been able to have. Eddie had been happy when she extended her leave: he liked her being at home, and they didn’t need her in
come, not really. She’d planned to take another six months off, and then she’d go back, when Charlotte would at least be able to play a bit more independently, move around. But instead of enjoying the extra time with her daughter, Nadia had started to count down the months then weeks before she’d have to leave Charlotte with someone else. Anyway, she had wanted another child, so the best plan was to stop breastfeeding and fall pregnant again quickly, the perfect excuse to stay home longer. When she felt that familiar shift in gravity, that queasiness when she stood up, she had told her manager that instead of returning from maternity leave, she was leaving the workforce to look after her children. She hadn’t wanted to be a working mum; being a mum was more than enough.

  It had been what she wanted – still was – but sometimes she wished it was her who was rushing out the door to a morning meeting or a dinner, leaving someone else to deal with the chaos of the children. No, not someone else: Eddie. So that he understood what it was really like; so he wouldn’t glance around the kitchen when he got home, and wonder what she’d done all day. How did other mothers manage to work and do all this – keep their house running and still spend enough time with their husbands, their children? It was more than that, though: how did they find enough energy to enjoy the time with their family, rather than resenting the moments children stole from their own need for space?

  She closed her eyes for a second. What a bloody cliché she’d become – they’d become. But, she reminded herself, there was plenty of time for her to go back to work. And she had no right to complain: Eddie was a good dad.

  She opened the fridge, took out the Pyrex bowl of marinated chicken pieces, and started to make the children’s dinner.

  * * *

  When the children were finally in bed, Nadia cooked herself some pasta, ate it quickly in front of the TV, then tidied away all the dishes and made the girls’ lunches for tomorrow. It was almost nine by the time she sat down again. Eddie would be halfway through dinner now, in some swanky restaurant with expensive wine. The kind of restaurants that they used to eat in together. Before children. She wondered who these clients from Singapore were. Were they women? Women who didn’t have children yet, young women full of drive and energy and fun, women who drank and flirted and had something interesting to talk about with her husband? Nadia could picture him smiling in that way he did with his head tilted to the side and his dimples winking, looking coy, the way he used to look at her. In her imagination, though, he was putting his hand on someone else’s shoulder, telling them that yes, he was married, but they had fallen out of love a long time ago. Nadia bit her lip. Was that the truth, the issue that she was skirting around, that they really had fallen out of love? But they hadn’t fallen – they had trudged and stumbled and slowed to a halt.

  She shook off the thoughts. God, what was wrong with her? When did she start losing the trust she’d had in their marriage for so long? No, she was losing trust in herself, in the identity that was drifting away, getting lost in the doldrums, a painted ship on a painted ocean. She used to be proud of herself, to love what she was doing, raising the children. But now they were growing up: Harry would be in kindy in a little over a year. Then what would she do?

  She pushed herself off the couch and walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She filled the kettle, switched it on, then off again. Opening the pantry, she looked at the case of wine – a fancy pinot, Eddie’s favourite – on the floor, under the shelves. She stuck a steak knife into the tape that held the box closed and dragged it towards her. She pulled out a bottle, smiled as she twisted the top off, then filled a glass to the brim.

  She checked the time on the oven clock, and then picked up the cordless phone and took her wine over to the couch before dialling Zoe’s home number. It rang three times, and then the answering machine clicked on. Nadia sighed, then sipped her wine, swilling the taste of blackberries around her mouth as she listened to the automated recording telling her to leave a message.

  ‘Zoe,’ she began, ‘It’s me—’

  ‘Nadia.’

  Nadia jumped as Zoe answered. ‘Oh, hi, sorry, did I wake you?’

  ‘No, of course not. Just watching a renovation show.’

  ‘Lachlan’s still away?’ Nadia asked, though she knew he was.

  ‘Yeah. Another week to go. What are you doing?’

  Nadia sighed. ‘Oh, just the usual.’ She recalled Zoe’s accusations at the party. No, she wouldn’t tell Zoe her own problems tonight. They were insignificant. ‘Eddie’s out so I’m just having a glass of wine by myself.’

  ‘First sign, eh?’

  Nadia smiled, picturing Zoe smiling too. ‘How are you, Zoe? I’m sorry I haven’t called you for a while, things just … well, I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. Mum’s been making sure I have absolutely no time alone. Suddenly, she seems to be in the area an awful lot more than she ever was!’

  Nadia laughed. ‘I can imagine! But seriously, how are you holding up?’

  ‘I’m fine, honestly. It’s a bit harder with Lachlan away but in some ways it’s easier, you know? Sometimes I don’t know what to say to him. He’s trying so hard to be positive. I know he’s upset too but neither of us seems able to talk about it properly to each other. I know he’s afraid he’ll upset me.’

  Nadia leaned back on the cushions, resting her glass on the arm of the sofa. ‘It’ll get easier.’

  ‘I know. I just need to get back to some sort of routine, find something else to focus on.’

  ‘But Zoe, don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re allowed to be sad, and angry. It’s not fair. You’re allowed to grieve, no one expects you to just shrug it off.’

  Zoe’s voice was thick and nasal. ‘Thanks, Nadia. Good job I’ve got a psychologist for a sister!’ She laughed and sniffed. ‘See, there I go again, crying. But seriously, I’m doing OK, I promise. Thank you for checking in on me. I appreciate it, I really do.’

  Nadia wiped away a tear of her own. Zoe always had to just cope with everything thrown at her, and she always succeeded. ‘I wish I could do more. I’m here if you need me, you know that, yeah?’

  ‘Of course. Thanks, Nadia.’

  ‘Take care, and we’ll talk soon. Maybe I’ll take the kids over to see you on the weekend or something. They miss their Aunty Zoe.’

  ‘That would be great.’

  Nadia ended the call, then drained her glass and stared at the black flecks in the dregs of the red wine. She ran her tongue around her mouth and scraped her bottom lip with her top teeth. She pictured Zoe getting into bed in her empty house, Lachlan’s side cold and empty, and knew that she’d probably cry a little, before falling into a fitful sleep.

  Returning to the kitchen, Nadia refilled the glass, then put it down again and switched the kettle back on. She was lucky. Maybe her own marriage to Eddie wasn’t the fairytale, but their story wasn’t a tragedy either.

  * * *

  It was Friday again. Weeks had passed, each night much the same as every other, but Nadia hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Zoe. She put on her yellow rubber gloves and squirted some dishwashing liquid into the sink, then swirled the water around. She leaned close to the sink as Eddie squeezed past her to fill the kettle. While he took out two mugs, she began scrubbing the baking tray. She stared at the bubbles. How many times had they done this exact same thing? Once he’d made the tea and she’d finished the dishes, they’d sit on opposite ends of the couch, drink their tea and stare at the screen. Eddie would choose what to watch; Nadia would get bored and go to their room to read until he came to bed.

  But this evening, she needed to talk to him. Not just the usual executive summary of the day – the kids, the bills, the problems – but a proper discussion. She breathed out slowly through her mouth to calm her nerves. It wasn’t that she was having second thoughts: she was sure she wanted to do this.

  She took the clean tray out of the sink, rinsed it, then stacked it on the drainer. She turned around; Eddie was wiping down t
he benchtop. She cleared her throat. ‘Eddie.’

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘I need to talk to you.’

  ‘OK.’ He turned to the fridge, opened it and took out a carton of milk.

  She took off the gloves and reached for his arm, speaking gently. ‘Can you stop that for a minute?’

  ‘Just a second.’ He poured milk into each of the mugs, put the carton back in the fridge, then looked at her. ‘Are you OK?’

  She steered him towards the dining table and they both sat down. ‘I’ve been thinking about something. We’re so lucky, you know. We love each other …’ Nadia smiled at him. He smiled back, though his brow was furrowed. ‘We’re happy, we’ve got three beautiful, healthy kids. Everything we could ever want, really.’

  ‘Yes …’

  Nadia made herself continue in the same even tone. ‘I’ve been thinking about Zoe and Lachlan. You know, nothing seems to go right for them. She’s been ill for years, Lachlan’s always away, and now they can’t have kids.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s a shame —’

  Nadia held up her hand. ‘Wait, let me finish.’

  Eddie frowned. ‘Go on.’

  Nadia’s heart was thumping now. Was she really going to say this? Do this? ‘Well, she’s my sister. And so I’ve been thinking, we’re so lucky. I thought maybe I could do it for them.’

  Eddie cocked his head to the side, then his eyes widened. ‘Do what? Nadia —’

  ‘Be her surrogate. Have a baby for her.’ Nadia’s mouth was dry. She had said it, and even to her own ears, it sounded outrageous.

  Eddie opened his mouth but said nothing.

  She hurried on. ‘I’ve thought it all through, Eddie. I just have to carry the pregnancy, the baby, then we’ll get back to normal. The pregnancy is the easy part, isn’t it? It’s the newborn stage that’s hard, and that won’t be something we have to deal with. It’s just like babysitting, really – I’m just letting the baby grow in me, that’s all. I promise it won’t affect us.’ She made herself stop, then watched him, her eyes wide, waiting for a reply.