Let Her Go Page 9

  Lachlan’s work holdall was on top of the bed, filthy with the film of red dust that always stained his clothes and hair when he came home. It took days to wash it off his skin; as the rust-coloured water drained away, it took with it the harshness of his life in the goldfields. But since returning this time, the ruddy dirt still clung to every line on his face, and had buried itself deep in his knuckles and around his fingernails. The old Lachlan hadn’t emerged yet. He’d been quiet since they’d arrived at Nadia and Eddie’s place, but then again, they were all pretty overwhelmed by the situation. He hadn’t been sleeping well; she’d felt him moving around in the bed next to her as she lay awake listening to Louise breathing. She’d heard Nadia at night too, creeping about downstairs, hesitating outside their bedroom door when Louise cried. But Louise took milk from the bottle easily: any breast milk that Nadia managed to pump, and top-ups of formula when there wasn’t enough. Nadia had nursed Louise almost constantly for the first few days, and had then withdrawn to her room with the electric pump every few hours. Zoe loved the feeling of holding Louise close while she drank from her bottle, her little fist clutching Zoe’s finger. She’d seen Nadia glare at the tin of powdered milk as if it was poison. Zoe sighed. It was hard for them all, and things would be much easier for everyone once she, Lachlan and Louise were gone.

  Zoe stacked Lachlan’s bag on top of her own suitcase near the door. He could carry them down. She zipped up the nappy bag, slung it over her shoulder along with her handbag, then picked up the dirty glasses and walked out into the hallway.

  Louise’s cries drifted up the stairs. Smiling, Zoe stood still and let the sound lap over her like warm water. She walked slowly down the stairs, forcing herself to stay calm, to resist the urge to run down, grab Louise and flee with her. She didn’t want Nadia to think she was rushing her; Zoe knew how sad she was by the way she had been laughing too loudly all day, chattering constantly yet not really saying anything at all.

  At the bottom of the stairs, she walked back through the open-plan kitchen towards the patio doors. Nadia hadn’t moved from her chair. She now held Louise upright, over her shoulder, and patted the whimpering baby’s back while whispering in her ear. Zoe’s hands began to shake and her eyes filled with tears; she leaned on the kitchen table and took a few deep breaths. This would be the hardest part, taking Louise from her sister.

  But Louise was hers to take.

  Chapter Nine

  Zoe sat at a wooden picnic table in the shade of a peppermint tree and sipped her coffee, listening to the clanging masts of the boats moored in the harbour. Across the park, the ocean was still. The sea breeze tiptoed around her and hissed through the canopy above, the branches heavy with dark green leaves and frosted with tiny white flowers. Zoe picked up a leaf that had fallen onto the table, and bent it in half until it snapped; holding it under her nose, she breathed in the warm, peppery scent of spring.

  Louise was asleep in the stroller. Zoe rocked it back and forth with her left hand while she stared in awe at her. She hadn’t been able to stop looking at their daughter since they’d taken her home. It had only been three weeks since they’d left Nadia and Eddie’s, but she could barely remember how life had been before they had Louise. It was miraculous that she was really here, that she really existed. Zoe wanted to make up for every moment that she had missed out on by not carrying Louise in her own body: she responded instantly to every whimper and cry; she carried her all day in a sling across her chest, until their bodies seemed to be one and the same; she spoke quietly to her so that she knew who her mother was. Zoe was tired, more tired than she’d ever been in her life, but she refused to even think about complaining. She would embrace every moment of being a mother, moments that she almost never had.

  But despite her joy and amazement, Zoe hadn’t been able to fully relax: Louise wasn’t hers yet. It was still Nadia’s and Eddie’s names on the birth certificate. Twenty-eight days – that was when she and Lachlan could lodge their application with the family court to finalise the transfer of parental rights. Of course, before they’d even started they’d had legal approval to go ahead with the surrogacy, after months of meeting with lawyers and psychologists and each other to decide what they’d do if the baby was disabled, or if one of them died or changed their mind, but all of that meant nothing until the court issued a new birth certificate that said they – she and Lachlan – were Louise’s parents. Nadia could still say no. She had assured Zoe time and time again that she wouldn’t, but until she had that piece of paper, Zoe wasn’t Louise’s legal mother. While every day she felt more comfortable in believing that she finally had a daughter, she did need that document to be at peace.

  A crow cawed; Zoe blinked and looked around. In the middle of the park was a children’s playground. A slide, two swings and a wooden boat all sat in a bed of sand. The older local kids would be at school, but there were a few tourists with their children, waiting for the Ferris wheel at the harbour’s edge to open. Two toddlers waddled around in the sand while their mothers sat cross-legged on the grass watching them and chatting. Zoe sipped her coffee again. Excitement rushed through her and she wanted to run over to join them instead of avoiding them as she’d always done before; she was now one of them

  She stood up and pushed the stroller over the uneven grass towards them. As she passed the two mothers, she saw that one of them was pregnant; the woman looked up and caught Zoe’s eye then smiled.

  Zoe smiled back. ‘You’re going to have your hands full!’

  The woman laughed and put a hand on her stomach. ‘Yeah, don’t know what I was thinking!’

  Zoe laughed back.

  The woman struggled to her feet. ‘Oh, she’s adorable! How old is she?’

  Zoe’s heart started to flutter. ‘She’s almost four weeks now.’

  ‘Wow! So little. And look at you! You’re so skinny! It took me ages to lose the baby weight. What’s her name?’

  Zoe shrugged and tried to push out her stomach. ‘It’s Louise.’ She took the brake off the stroller with her foot.

  The woman continued. ‘Our friend, she’s got a little boy, about the same age – he’d be five … no, six weeks?’ She looked to the other mother, who nodded. ‘Where did you have Louise? You were probably in the hospital at the same time!’

  Zoe’s mouth went dry. ‘St John’s.’

  ‘Oh, I think she was in Murdoch. Did the midwife hook you up with a mothers’ group? That’s how we met.’

  ‘Oh … yeah, she did, thanks.’ Zoe could feel her face reddening. She gave a final smile, mumbled her goodbyes, then started quickly walking away. Once she was out of sight of the women, she stopped again and breathed deeply. Why did she feel like such a fraud? What was she frightened of? Why couldn’t she say that she was infertile and her sister had carried her child? Zoe felt her face blazing inexplicably with shame.

  Louise was stirring. Zoe walked to the front of the stroller and squatted down. She clasped Louise’s little fist in her hand then leaned in and kissed her forehead. ‘Are you hungry? Let’s go somewhere quiet …’

  She pushed the stroller past the convict-built limestone buildings of the university, across the railway line and alongside Arthur Head with the Roundhouse towering above them. Louise was starting to cry; Zoe walked more quickly. She hesitated at the entrance to the old whaling tunnel, where three empty beer bottles lay on the ground, but there was no sign of the homeless men who usually drank there. She took a deep breath and hurried through the tunnel, her footsteps reverberating around the cool walls, merging with the echoes of the whalers’ footsteps from almost two hundred years before. As they emerged into the sunlight she exhaled deeply.

  She sat on a bench in the shade of a patch of tea-trees and wattles as the waves lapped over the sand, over the remains of the whalers’ hearths where they had rendered blubber into oil to light the settlers’ fires. She held out her right hand, palm up, as she had been taught as a child, and looked at the silhouettes of islands on the horiz
on. Her thumb pointed at Rottnest; her index finger to Stragglers Rock; her middle finger to Carnac Island, where Lachlan fished, returning with stories of sea lions and tiger snakes; her ring finger to Garden Island; and her pinky to Penguin Island. The palm of her hand, right here where she lived and where her daughter now lived, was Fremantle. She smiled and curled her palm tightly closed, holding onto home, onto family.

  She took her bag from beneath the stroller and prepared Louise’s bottle. Twenty-seven days had passed. Tomorrow their lawyer was submitting the documents, and in a matter of weeks this would be over, and she could finally relax.

  * * *

  Nadia poured six glasses of champagne from the bottle she’d kept in her fridge, just for today, then held her glass in the air. ‘To Louise!’

  ‘To Louise!’ replied the others in synchrony, all grinning.

  Nadia clinked her glass with Zoe’s first, laughing at the joy on her sister’s face, then with Lachlan, Eddie, her dad and finally, Rosemary. The men were still in their suits and ties. Rosemary wore a black dress, and Zoe a skirt suit. Nadia hadn’t been able to fit into hers; her belly and thighs were still carrying the weight of the pregnancy, and she couldn’t have anything tight over her caesarean scar.

  They had all gathered at Zoe and Lachlan’s house to celebrate after the Family Court hearing. The parentage order had been officially approved, and a new birth certificate had been issued in Zoe and Lachlan’s names. Nadia had known there would be no problems; from the moment she had offered to be Zoe’s surrogate, Nadia had made sure that everything went to plan. She kept a ring binder of information, divided into colour-coded sections with copies of the legislation, reports, a timeline, a flow chart of the steps they each had to take. She couldn’t have coped with any complications, any reason to give up. The process had taken more of an emotional toll than she’d prepared herself for. It all took so long, and as she, Eddie, Zoe and Lachlan went back and forth to lawyers and clinics and counsellors, she watched her own children grow older. Harry was almost six now, Violet eight and Charlotte ten. By the time Louise was Charlotte’s age, Harry would be practically finished high school, following his big sisters to university, to his own life, and leaving Nadia to hers. Nadia had kept thinking, as she lay in the obstetrician’s clinic under a sheet while they inseminated her, what if this baby was mine? She felt the pull of having another child at home, one who’d need her for years after her own children had left.

  Last week, her court-appointed counsellor had told her how other women in her situation felt when they handed over a child, then asked her if she was still sure about the decision. Nadia had dropped her eyes and answered yes. After all, she was different to the other surrogates. She was family, and she would still have a relationship with Louise. She’d always be part of her life; she would see her grow into a young woman. Nadia knew that she wasn’t being very convincing, to either the counsellor or herself. It was enough to satisfy her lawyer, and the court. But the truth was that in the month between Louise’s birth and today, Nadia had been surprised at how much she’d struggled to separate herself from Louise. Her head told her that her role had ended and that Zoe was now Louise’s mother, but her body, her physical core, didn’t understand where the baby she had borne had gone.

  There was a hand on her shoulder; Nadia looked up.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Zoe said quietly. The others had moved, chattering excitedly, into the living room, leaving Nadia and Zoe alone in the kitchen.

  Nadia nodded. ‘Yes. You know, I am OK. I was worried I wouldn’t be, but I really am. I’m just so happy for you.’

  ‘Thank you, again. I wish there —’

  Nadia waved her free hand in the air. ‘Don’t be silly, there’s no need to thank me.’

  ‘Yes, there is. You’ve done an amazing thing for me, for us.’ Zoe’s voice was wavering.

  Nadia felt her own eyes fill with tears, but she knew it wasn’t from regret. She could see that Zoe’s life was complete now, and Nadia was so happy for her sister, and proud that she had been the one to help her.

  ‘You’re going to make me cry,’ she laughed, through her tears. ‘Please don’t ever thank me again. Just enjoy being a mum, OK? And you …’ She looked up at Lachlan, who was now standing beside them. ‘Enjoy being a dad.’

  Lachlan’s eyes were wet too, though he was smiling. ‘I certainly will. Th—’

  ‘No!’ Nadia held her hand up to stop him. ‘Don’t thank me. It’s over now. But I’m still allowed to spoil my niece!’

  ‘Oh, Nadia …’ Zoe put her arms around Nadia and the sisters clung to each other. Now that her legal bonds to Louise were cut, Nadia knew that she could finally move on with her own life, something that she had put on hold for three years.

  * * *

  Back at home that night, Nadia tucked Harry into bed, kissed his forehead, then turned out the light and walked towards the girls’ room. Sighing, she leaned down and picked up a pair of shoes from the hallway. Eddie had gone to pick up some takeaway curries; the kids had eaten some horrible fast food for dinner. Tonight, Nadia didn’t care.

  Charlotte and Violet were sitting on the floor of their room in their pyjamas, hair still wet and tangled from the bath, playing with Barbie dolls. Nadia rubbed her eyes and forced herself to smile. ‘OK, girls, tidy-up time. Let’s get this all cleared up and get into bed for your story.’

  ‘OK, Mum!’ Charlotte said, grinning up at her. Nadia smiled back and tilted her head to the side. The girls flung the toys back into the basket in the corner of the room, then clambered into their beds.

  Nadia took a book of fairy stories from the shelf and settled herself down in the white rocking chair between the beds. She leaned back with the book on her lap, feeling the thin cushion on the seat slip forward and the wooden slats dig into her spine. She had nursed all the children in this creaky old chair. Eddie had bought it from an antiques shop when Nadia was pregnant with Charlotte, and she still loved it. Once the children had stopped breastfeeding, she’d rock them on her lap and sing them to sleep. Maybe one day she would sing to Louise in this chair too, if she was babysitting. Her eyes filled with tears. Her milk had dried up after a few weeks of pumping, the plastic cup and mechanical sucking and whirring no substitute for a baby’s mouth and cries. She had wanted to do at least that for Louise. It hadn’t worked out as she had hoped, but what could she do? She had tried.

  Nadia blinked quickly. She pulled a splinter from the arm of the chair, then looked to either side of her at her two beautiful daughters, lying on their sides gazing at her. She could imagine how they felt, because she remembered being their age and lying next to Zoe while Rosemary read to them. Poetry had been Rosemary’s favourite thing to read; Nadia still recalled her stepmother’s voice as she recounted ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner’, and her own anxiety at the plight of the sailor with an albatross hanging around his neck.

  Nadia smiled again, remembering Zoe’s elation after the court today, joy that she had rarely seen on her sister’s face before. It had all turned out so well. Nadia was so fortunate, and now Zoe was too. Nadia was being too hard on herself; this confusion, this conflict of emotion was what having babies was all about. She had felt guilty about so many things with her other three, and still did – too much television, too few vegetables, too many after-school activities, too few after-school activities. Guilt came with being a mother. Who hadn’t had a child and thought, What have I done? She knew from experience that those thoughts were fleeting, that they’d soon be overpowered by the joys of Louise. Anyway, there was no use in dwelling on second thoughts, because it was too late to go back.

  Chapter Ten

  Lou went into the kitchen for breakfast, and frowned: her dad was standing at the coffee machine steaming some milk. Usually he would have already left for his work in the city by the time she got up for school. He was dressed in the casual work clothes that all his business colleagues seemed to wear – dark blue jeans and a pale blue checked shirt, unbuttoned
at the collar – but he was still in his socks, threadbare at the big toes. Her mum was wearing her work clothes too, her hair blow-dried and her face made up, but instead of rushing around, she sat at the kitchen table staring at the newspaper. She looked up when Lou walked past her to the pantry, and smiled a little.

  ‘Morning,’ Lou said. If they weren’t going to mention the fact that something was up, then neither was she.

  ‘Good morning. Did you sleep well?’

  Lou shrugged, then took out a bowl from the cupboard and poured some cereal. She opened the fridge for the milk, then remembered that her dad was using it. She closed the fridge door again, walked towards him and picked up the carton. Feeling him watching her, she sighed.

  ‘OK. What’s going on?’ she said, trying to sound casual but not meeting his eye.

  Her dad poured the hot milk into his mug, wiped the metal steamer with a cloth, then cleared his throat. ‘Well, Louise, today we’re all going to a meeting.’

  ‘Yes,’ her mum said. ‘We’ve both taken the morning off so we can go together. It’s very important.’

  Lou’s pulse quickened. Was she being expelled? The police had only cautioned her for the drugs, after her mum’s boss told them that he didn’t want her to be charged. She’d thought it was all under control: she was grounded, she’d promised to stop cutting herself, she was studying hard. ‘What kind of meeting?’

  Her parents looked at each other, then her dad walked over to the table and sat next to her mum. ‘Sit down, Louise,’ he said.