Tiddas (32 page)

‘Really?' Xanthe asked. ‘You don't want to do it naturally?'

‘Absolutely not, I want the epidural.' Izzy was adamant.

‘But isn't that just for a C-section?' Ellen was pretending to know more than she did.

‘No,' Izzy and Xanthe said in unison.

‘If I'm in pain and the baby is still some way off and I haven't started dilating, then I want an epidural. Obviously, they're not going to give it to me if it's too close to delivering the baby.' Izzy had done enough reading to know that, and she didn't want Xanthe to think she hadn't given it some serious thought and research.

‘You do realise there's risks, don't you, Izzy?' Veronica asked, recalling all the talks she'd had with Alex about their own children's births.

‘I know an epidural can delay the birth because if I'm numb I won't be aware of my own urge to push,' Izzy said.

Ellen looked confused.

‘And that means they may need to use forceps,' Izzy added.

Ellen screwed her face up; there was no chance of forceps ever making their way anywhere near
her
vagina.

A massive blast hit their ears as the Super Hornet aerial display took flight. It was 6.30 p.m. and the fireworks were scheduled for 7 p.m. They were what everyone was waiting for. The tiddas were no different except that none of them were prepared to sit for hours along the riverfront in the heat just for a glimpse. As they got older, the creature comforts of cushioned seats, private toilets and drinks in glass rather than plastic had become far more appealing.

‘I can't believe people start staking out a spot at lunch time,' Izzy said.

‘That's nothing, you should see them at New Year's,' Ellen added.

‘Oh God, I don't know why they bother. Once you've seen the fireworks in Sydney, even on the television, everything
else just pales into insignificance,' Xanthe said, thinking back to the romantic New Year's Eve she and Spencer had only nine months ago.

On that night they'd watched the world's most stunning harbour come alive from the luxury of their deluxe suite at the Four Seasons in Circular Quay. Spencer had secretly booked the trip a year in advance and had everything planned, down to the last drop of Veuve at midnight. By 12.15 a.m. they were making love to ring in the New Year. Now they weren't even having sex unless it was ‘scheduled' into their electronic diaries according to Xanthe's cycle. Every time she got her period she sobbed alone, feeling a distance growing between her and her husband. She wondered what had happened in the past few months. They had been happy, they'd been planning; they'd been making love when aroused, not just when an alarm reminded them to.

Xanthe hadn't confided in the girls about her baby dramas for the past few months. Ever since Izzy had found her feet with the pregnancy their friendship had almost got back to normal, although at times it was still hard for Xanthe to feel overjoyed for her friend. Izzy herself didn't always act overjoyed, and Xanthe had almost made her mouth bleed from biting her lip when Izzy complained about being pregnant. By the same token, Izzy had become more aware of the fragile state of her tidda who continued pounding the hills of Paddington at the same time as praying to Biami for help.

Ever since Xanthe's grandmother back in Mudgee had told her to be patient and not use IVF or any other ‘Western technique', Xanthe had hoped she'd become less anxious,
but it wasn't easy. She was more stressed than ever about getting pregnant, and about the distance forming between her and Spencer, especially as he was happily going away more often for work.

Nadine was grumpy and anxious as she and Richard turned into Oxford Street for her literary breakfast event at Riverbend Books. She liked the owner, was grateful for the support of the independent bookseller over the years, and was thrilled they provided a book club for young readers that her children were keen to be part of. More than that, she liked that there was a licensed restaurant which made for a relaxed evening event for an author like her. But today she was doing the breakfast that Claire had organised, and there'd be no bevy to relax her and no publicist to appease her. Instead, Claire had chosen to send the local sales rep along to make sure everything went smoothly.

Nadine was surprised there was a full house so early in the morning. She wasn't sure everyone would leave happy. How would
they
cope without a bevy? Would they think she was interesting? Intelligent? Could she appear funny without a glass in her hand? She hoped so but lacked confidence, and her demons were taking over her brain.

‘What a wonderful way to start the day,' she heard one woman say to her friend over coffee and toast.

‘Can't think of anything better than sitting here devouring
corn fritters and stuffed mushrooms, while listening to a local author,' her friend responded.

This kind of banter was new to Nadine.

‘Nads, they have French toast with pears and buffalo ricotta,' Richard whispered to his wife. ‘I'm pretty sure they'll make it better than I ever could. I'm going to order you some.' He kissed her on the cheek, but she took his wrist firmly.

‘Richard please, no food, not yet.'

He nodded, but after years of marriage he was still trying to understand the complexity of the woman he loved.

As the paying guests took their seats, Nadine looked around in the hope that her tiddas might have turned up, perhaps even forgiven her. But all she saw were mothers yarning over coffee, businessmen with iPads open, and book lovers flicking through her latest title. She imagined the event would be far less confronting professionally than the previous one, but on a personal level it was much more challenging.

Inside the store, Richard stood aside as his wife was greeted by cheerful, friendly staff. He stared as they welcomed her and ran through the timing of the morning's program. Nadine wished he would turn his attention to the groovy t-shirts on sale, or the vast collection of children's books up the back of the store, but she knew he stood close by because he was so proud of her.

The frangipani and jacarandas were in full bloom in Paddington. Their scent and colour lifted Xanthe's spirits as she faced the beginning of another menstrual cyce, a further reminder that her dream had been delayed yet again. She was glad book club was at her place; she was grateful for the company, as Spencer had been working late most nights on the new Racial Discrimination Act legislation currently before the government. His late nights meant he was coming home tired and not wanting to make love at all.

Ellen, Izzy and Veronica were sitting on the couch talking about Veronica's move to Spring Hill, now only weeks away.

‘I think you'll really love it, Vee. It's completely different to The Gap,' said Ellen.

‘I agree, but you know where else I wouldn't mind living?'

‘Where?' Xanthe, Izzy and Ellen chorused.

‘Mullumbimby,' Veronica said, smiling.

‘Well
you
could afford to buy a flash house there. Not sure about the rest of us, but nice segue into tonight's book, tidda,' Ellen said, turning her phone to silent but not off altogether because she wanted to know if Craig tried to call.

They reached into their bags for their novels, the fifth for the local Goori author. She'd previously nailed the young adult market with novels about growing up in Brisbane and Byron Bay.

‘This made me wonder about what constitutes the great Australian novel,' Veronica said, reminding them all that Nadine wasn't there. None of them wanted to be the one to initiate discussion about her absence, each having received a simple text message earlier in the day making her apologies.

‘Well, it depends on how you define the great Australian novel, don't you think?' Xanthe asked.

‘Of course, it's all subjective. Everyone will define it in a different way, especially anyone in academia,' Izzy said.

‘What do you think makes the great Australian novel?' Ellen looked at each of her tiddas. Her phone vibrated in her lap. It hadn't left her sight in weeks.

‘I think it should be something that's political and philosophical,' Xanthe said. ‘And it should challenge the reader's values as Aussies.'

‘Just from working at the library and meeting a whole range of writers at the festival last week, I'd say that it certainly needs to be something that can entertain while providing a message,' Izzy said, thinking of all the interviews she'd done over the four days when the library was buzzing with students, retirees, international authors and performers.

‘And it most definitely should include Indigenous themes and characters,' Veronica added. Now the coordinator for the Brisbane arm of Reading for Reconciliation, she was more than aware of the need for Australian literature to be inclusive of the First Peoples of the country.

‘Excuse me,' Ellen said, unable to sit any longer without responding to her fella.

‘Everything all right?' Izzy asked, hoping that it wasn't another death back in Mudgee.

‘Oh, no, it's all good.' Ellen smiled a silly, infatuated-school-girl smile. ‘It's just Craig.' She kept tapping the keys, wanting to keep the dialogue going with him even though she knew she should've been focusing on her tiddas.

‘This sounds like it might be getting serious,' Xanthe said, happy that her friend might finally be settling down with one fella and not having one a week.

‘I don't know about
serious
.' Ellen wasn't going to admit too much too soon. She was the last woman to succumb to heartache at the hands of a man. She was the strong one, the least needy one, the most emotionally-in-control one. Or so she thought.

‘It's just that . . .' she stopped herself, not quite sure what she even wanted to say.

‘What?' Veronica asked. ‘Are you falling in love?'

‘God no! Me? In love? Me and love are not a likely fit.' Ellen was going to resist that emotion, even if it was just verbally. ‘But I do think about him, a
lot
.' She put the phone down on the coffee table.

The girls all smiled, wanting to bask in the glow of infatuation that their tidda was radiating across the room.

‘Well?' Izzy asked. ‘What's happened so far? And I don't mean sex; we know you've got that sorted.'

‘He makes me laugh. We laugh a lot, about nothing special, stupid things, him. He talks about himself a lot and that makes me laugh, and so I guess he plays on that.'

‘Where's he taken you, for dinner or whatever?' Veronica asked.

‘We don't really go out that much. I'm keen to stay in and enjoy my apartment.' This was only partially true. Ellen did want to make the most of her mortgage payments, but she wouldn't have said no to the occasional dinner or a movie.

‘The problem is, I haven't had a boyfriend in so long, and I am so used to being alone and doing things when I want to, how I want to, wherever I want to, without having to ask anyone else, or consider or please anyone else, that to have another person in my life so much is weird all of a sudden, which you all probably think is weird of me.' Ellen couldn't believe she'd said it all in one breath and that she could finally articulate what had been spinning around in her head for weeks.

‘No, not at all,' Izzy said. ‘I'm the same with Asher. It's a challenge and a surprise every day though.'
And a lot of adjustments
, Izzy thought. After decades of living alone it hadn't been easy to accommodate Asher into her life and apartment full-time, but she was trying.

‘Do you
want
a boyfriend?' Veronica asked.

‘Do you want
Craig
as a boyfriend, more to the point?' Xanthe went further.

‘I don't know, all I know is that he is in my head constantly. I wake up and he is in my thoughts. He's the last thing on my mind when I go to sleep. I see things in the shops and I want to buy them for him. I sit on the ferry and wish he was there with me. And the chemistry is so intense between us that I can almost come just thinking about him. I think I'm going insane. There's something wrong with me.'