Tiddas (9 page)

‘Why, Ellen?' Xanthe was gobsmacked, unable to understand her tidda's unusual confession, or why any woman would make herself permanently unable to have children before she'd even had one, at
least
one.

‘The truth is, after having been co-parent to five younger brothers and sisters when I was just twelve, it felt like I'd already raised a family just by helping out Mum. I hardly had a childhood after that arsehole who some still refer to as “my father” left.'

Ellen wasn't one to get emotional but she felt a lump in her throat at the thought of her mother and the hard life they shared when she was growing up, thanks to the good-for-nothing sperm donor who had left them all for a better life, but no-one knew where.

‘Any maternal instinct I may have had was completely crushed by having to cook, clean and care for the kids because my poor mother was working seven days a week either cleaning at the school or at the hospital and sometimes both in the one day, just to keep a roof over our head and food in our bellies.' Ellen shook her head with disappointment in the man who had fathered her.

The other women felt guilty for not realising the pressure Ellen had been under as a teenager. Izzy thought of Ellen mainly by the river in a purple cozzie and long plaits, always
cheerful. Xanthe remembered Ellen as the best sprinter at the sports carnival. Veronica recalled how Ellen was a dynamo at elastics on the playground. And later in life Nadine had always compared Ellen and herself to the girls from
Puberty Blues
, only in the country and not at the beach. It was clear to the tiddas now that Ellen had managed to hide the challenges she faced at home, making the most of being with her friends when she could.

‘Let's face it, in high school we were so busy talking about boys and INXS and George Michael. And you two,' Ellen nodded to Veronica and Xanthe, ‘had crushes on Whitney Houston and Rick Astley. No-one was talking about what was going on at home. You just never noticed the shit I had to put up with.' She smiled calmly. ‘So, in all honesty I can say that I support you, Izzy, in whatever you decide because it's
your
life to lead, just as yours is yours, Xanthe.'

‘Well, isn't this just the perfect circle then. One will never have a baby, one's pregnant and doesn't want it, and one can't get pregnant,' Nadine summarised.

‘Thanks for the analysis,' Ellen said sarcastically. ‘Talk about not offering anything of use. Why don't you have another drink?'

Nadine just smiled back, having already found comfort in the cosy drunken place where she could just bliss out.

‘I should be getting home,' Xanthe said, looking at her watch before pulling cash from her purse and putting a couple of notes in the middle of the table.

‘I've got it,' Nadine said. ‘In lieu of buying anyone chocolates for Easter.'

No-one had the emotional energy to even try to argue with her.

Xanthe walked around the table and pecked everyone on the cheek in a false display that she was okay, and that everything between them was all right. But nobody really believed that it was. As she walked out of the café, Xanthe knew the women would still be talking.

Back at the table, Veronica turned to Izzy. ‘Why haven't you told the father?' she asked seriously.

‘I don't know if I should.'

‘Of course you should,' Veronica answered, as if it were a no-brainer.

‘But . . . if I'm not going to have the baby, does he even need to know?' Izzy didn't know the answer; all she knew was that she was glad that Xanthe had left. ‘What should I do?' She looked at Nadine.

‘You should talk to your mother; she's the wisest woman you know. She mightn't like me, but I respect her and know she'll have whatever answers you need.'

‘Mum likes you,' Izzy said, only half convincingly, unwilling to offer ‘love' as the emotion Trish might feel for her daughter-in-law. Izzy also wanted to shift the subject away from calling her mother, which she was sure would not end well.

Nadine brushed off Izzy's reply. Whether or not her mother-in-law liked her didn't matter that much when she lived so far away. ‘The thing is, mothers are good to talk to about these things. And yours will be the same. I know, and don't shout me down, I would be devastated if Brit thought she couldn't come to me with something this big.'

‘And it
is
big, Izzy, it's not something you should be dealing with by yourself,' Veronica said.

‘Yes, it's
your
decision, but either way, we'll be here to support you,' Ellen reassured her. ‘And Xanthe will come around, it's just really hard for her right now.'

Izzy contemplated what it would be like to have the baby by herself, even though she didn't believe she was emotionally, let alone mentally, equipped to do so. If she raised the baby alone would the child end up hating Asher, like Ellen hated her dad?

‘Do you ever hear about your fath– I mean the arsehole anymore?' she asked Ellen.

‘No. And Mum never mentions him. He could be dead for all I know. And for all I care. I'm not scarred by not having a father. I was surrounded, am
still
surrounded, by people I love and who love me.'

Nadine smiled at Ellen.

‘You know you love me,' Ellen grinned widely, wanting to reconcile for the sake of all the tiddas, but also because she loved Nadine too. ‘
And
I will be a wonderful aunty if and when the need arises.'

T
he following week Xanthe was feeling lonely. Between Spencer's humanitarian legal work and Xanthe being an active member of the local Aboriginal community – volunteering in a tutoring program and at Murri Radio – the pair were at an endless stream of charity events and fundraisers, sometimes together, but mostly flying solo. They both agreed that they would do as much as they could in terms of their paid work and ‘love jobs' – volunteering – until they had a family of their own, because they knew that then their priorities would naturally shift.

Xanthe usually asked her tiddas if they wanted to join her at events, and when they could they would. Living almost thirty minutes from the city and not driving herself, Nadine rarely went but she always donated a box of autographed books for the raffles and, if pushed, would offer a manuscript assessment for auction as well. Given her celebrity status
in Brisbane, such a prize became an increasingly lucrative money spinner for several lucky not-for-profit organisations.

Xanthe hadn't mentioned one fundraiser to her friends when she'd heard about it a few days earlier. She was still stewing over the news of Izzy's pregnancy and Ellen's tubal ligation, which had left her the only Black woman in the group wanting to be a mother. Her head was still spinning about how different she had turned out compared to her long-time friends. Significant differences she'd never seen or even thought about before had arisen at the Easter breakfast. Differences she wasn't sure they would overcome. She wondered if their shared history growing up in Mudgee, their commitment to community, their political views and their love of books would be enough to keep them as tight-knit as they were before the dreaded confessions of last weekend.

Xanthe had always imagined all their kids growing up together – except for Veronica's, but she'd be having grandkids soon enough anyway – reliving the circle of friendship they'd had as young girls. Tonight, she was heading into the city, having not spoken to any of her tiddas since Saturday, and hoping that at least someone would get around to organising Nadine's birthday which was fast approaching. It was abnormal to go so long without even a yarn on the phone; she knew it, they knew it too.

Xanthe had an ulterior motive for attending the Mummy's Wish Glam It for Charity event at the Vintage Hotel in George Street. Of course she wanted to help raise money and would buy raffle tickets on top of her ticket to the fundraiser. She and Spencer didn't skimp on charities. But the truth was
she was hoping she might meet other women like her, women wanting children and still desperately waiting to conceive. She didn't think of herself as selfish at all; she'd lost all notion of what was logical and fair in her obsession with getting pregnant. But she now felt there was no way she could ask Izzy or Ellen to go to anything like this with her. Nadine was just too high maintenance with her drinking and Veronica seemed to get upset at the slightest thing these days. Xanthe was quite happy to attend this one solo.

Being in the business of talking to people from all walks of life every day, Xanthe had no trouble mixing with strangers; she didn't find it difficult in the least to strike up a conversation with someone she had no prior knowledge of. From a distance she spotted a woman who also ran the hills around Paddington and on recognising each other they started talking easily.

‘Great dress,' the other woman said.

Xanthe smiled. ‘Sacha Drake, thanks.' It was something she'd tried on one Sunday and Spencer had surprised her with it the next day. ‘Just because,' he'd said.

‘And I picked these shoes up at DFO, a sale on the sale on top of another sale,' the other woman said, impressing Xanthe; the one thing she loved more than anything was a good bargain.

‘That mauve is really your colour . . .' Xanthe extended her hand.

‘Kylie, thanks.'

‘I'm Xanthe, this is my first Mummy's Wish event. What a great turnout.'

‘Mine too. A good friend was recently helped enormously by this organisation so I wanted to come along and support them.' She waved a handful of raffle tickets in the air.

‘I need to get some of those,' Xanthe said, looking around for a seller.

Just as Xanthe turned around a staff member suggested the women take their seats downstairs.

‘I'm on table four,' Xanthe said.

‘So am I. We probably could've shared a cab here,' Kylie laughed.

‘Well, I'm happy to share one home.' They hadn't had more than a few minutes together but Xanthe was pleased to have relaxed into conversation with this woman so quickly, given her social life, as with the other tiddas, revolved around each other. Four close friends were better than dozens of acquaintances, she'd always thought, but now and then it was good to mix it up a bit.

At table four the white tablecloth was littered with little pink foil-covered chocolate hearts and handmade red cardboard hearts. There were brochures and business cards of supporters, and a list of raffle prizes. When Xanthe managed to finally buy her tickets she declared, ‘I don't care if I don't win anything.' But in her head she was hoping her number would be called out for the remedial massage or the Princess Chic shoes.

‘It's all about the cause, really,' she assured herself and the other women at the table. They all nodded in agreement, while also scanning the prize list for what they secretly wanted to win.

A glamorous burlesque show with petite, elegant dancers was entertaining but slightly wasted on the all-female crowd. ‘They should've got Manpower!' Kylie said, as the voluptuous women took over the restaurant for fifteen minutes.

When the dancing stopped, Kylie went to the bar. Xanthe discreetly listened to other conversations at the table, mostly about kids. She felt sad and started wishing she hadn't come at all. She could easily have made a donation or bought $200 worth of tickets and increased her chance of winning something at the same time. Maybe she would've won the pearl earrings.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming along tonight . . .' The speeches started and the coordinator, in a long emerald green dress, not only ran through the generous things the organisation did by providing domestic help, fuel vouchers, parking vouchers and even laptops to women in hospital so they could Skype their kids, but she also talked about women battling cancer while pregnant. Xanthe hated herself a little at that moment for not recognising how incredibly lucky she was; she might not be pregnant, but nor did she have cancer. She mentally smacked herself in the head, knowing she needed to look at the life she had and be grateful. As she slumped into her chair, she wallowed in her own guilt, but quickly became conscious of another woman at the table wearing a royal blue kaftan who was complaining about not winning in the raffle. Xanthe wanted to smack her as well.

Someone's birthday is approaching. I hope we're doing something fun!

The text message had been sent by Veronica. She couldn't stand the silence that had shrouded the group since Easter. Someone had to break the ice and she had no qualms about being that person. It'd been ten days and communication between the tiddas had all but stopped, and every one of the women had felt the gap in their day. Even though they mainly saw each other at book club and for events that often took weeks to organise, most days there was a flurry of texts flying around with goss, jokes and anything else that kept them connected. Since their group confession, the days had been long, tense, awkward, silent and anxious.