The taxi pulled up out the front of the apartment block in Southbank on the Yarra River. Anna’s parents had joined the migration of empty-nesters, selling the Toorak house when Anna and Mac moved to Sydney and buying a modern city apartment. Anna had been heartbroken, not that she ever said anything. They had a perfect right to sell up and do as they wished. The house was far too big for them and the grounds required too much maintenance. But she had always pictured her own children running around playing in that garden, sleeping over in her old room. She had so wanted to give her parents a grandchild, to be able to announce it one day when they least expected it. Though she suspected that all potential grandparents lived in a permanent state of anticipation of that particular announcement. Which was why she had never wanted to tell them about her IVF treatment. Anna knew how long and hard they had waited to have her, she couldn’t make them go through it again. She couldn’t put them through the same highs and lows, give them the same hope, only to disappoint them over and over.
But now . . . well, now things had changed.
Mac jumped from the taxi to get their bags, leaving Anna to pay the driver. The trip had been an ordeal. They had barely spoken in the car on the way to the airport and as soon as they were settled in their seats on the plane, Mac had opened his laptop and started to work, ignoring her. In the taxi from the airport he immediately struck up a conversation with the driver about the cricket test in Sri Lanka. Of course Mac was well aware that Anna knew nothing about cricket and cared even less, still leg stumps and wickets and maidens and overs dominated the entire long drive from Tullamarine into the city. The fanatical attention to detail men displayed for cricket confounded and at times amused Anna. Today it just made her sick. She had never known Mac to act with such studied indifference towards her. But he was not going to be able to ignore her for much longer.
‘Darling, you’re here,’ her mother crooned into the security intercom. Mac and Anna took the lift to the twelfth floor where her parents were waiting as the doors opened. Caroline Gilchrist held out her arms, rushing forward to greet her daughter. Tall, slender and blonde, or ash these days, it was almost impossible to believe Caroline was already in her seventies.
‘Mac,’ said Bernard, shaking his hand heartily. ‘It’s been too long, son.’
Her father did love Mac like the son he’d never had, and Mac reciprocated the feeling. Bernard and Caroline were like the parents Mac had always wanted, and Anna was confident he would never willingly hurt them or see them upset. She was counting on that.
‘How’s corporate life treating you?’ Bernard asked him.
‘Cracking the whip lately, I’m afraid, Bernard,’ Mac answered ruefully.
Bernard enjoyed the stimulation of the younger man. He had not taken easily to retirement. A highly regarded psychiatrist, he had served on the boards of both hospitals and universities. He still retained a couple of honorary positions, as much as he could manage really. Bernard could feel the weight of his advancing years. His mind was sharp but his body was betraying him. It was not so much retirement as old age that he despised.
He turned to Anna, smiling warmly, lovingly, in that way fathers reserve for their daughters. He still saw the four year old, the seven year old, perhaps the twelve year old, but it was hard for him to see far past that. Anna knew her father loved her, adored her in fact, but he still treated her like his little girl, and like a little girl she was still desperate to win his approval. She had his affection, but she wanted more. When she didn’t quite make it into medicine after school, Anna chose psychology, telling herself and anyone who would listen that it had nothing to do with her father, it was what she wanted to do. But of course it had everything to do with her father. And the irony of it was that he regarded psychology as pop psychiatry and had never really taken her career seriously.
‘Leave the bags for now,’ Caroline insisted once they were inside the apartment. ‘I have lunch all but ready, you must be starved. Come along, Anna, give me a hand.’
She followed her mother into the kitchen. The apartment was light and modern, the kitchen sleek, minimalist, pale green glass and stainless steel. But no matter how modern, it was still a kitchen and the women still found themselves here more often than the men. In many ways Caroline had fulfilled the traditional role of wife, despite a stellar career of her own as an academic. But she had always been overshadowed by the formidable reputation of her husband. And it didn’t appear to bother her one bit.
‘You look tired, darling,’ Caroline said, taking hold of Anna’s hands and looking into her eyes. She said it with genuine concern; it was not the kind of veiled put-down many mothers engaged in with their daughters. Caroline was not like that. They enjoyed an easy, open relationship and Anna knew she could tell her anything, which was going to make what she had to do all the harder. She hoped her mother would understand.
‘I’m fine, Mum,’ Anna smiled.
‘Are you getting enough sleep?’ Caroline persisted.
‘Sure, most of the time. I’ve just had a lot going on lately. I’ll tell you all about it when we sit down.’
When everything was laid out on the table, Caroline told Anna to go drag her father and Mac from the cricket and to make it clear she would not tolerate leaving it on in the background.
‘This looks wonderful, Caroline,’ said Mac when he came to the table. There was a basket of fresh rolls and a huge antipasto platter groaning with cold meats and marinated vegetables, olives and cheeses.
‘It all comes straight from the markets, Mac,’ Caroline dismissed.
‘She lives at those Queen Victoria Markets,’ Bernard added, opening a bottle with a corkscrew. ‘Who’s having wine?’
Only Anna declined, and she didn’t miss the meaningful glance from her mother when she did. After everyone had filled their plates, Anna took a sip of water and leaned forward in her chair. She cleared her throat.
‘There’s something Mac and I have to tell you.’
Mac looked up abruptly, his knife and fork poised above his plate. ‘Anna,’ he cautioned.
‘Well, I’ve been waiting for this,’ Bernard smiled, lifting his glass.
‘No, Dad, I know what you’re probably thinking,’ Anna stopped him. She glanced at her mother. Caroline was looking slightly puzzled. ‘I’m not pregnant, though that’s not for want of trying. You see, for a few years now we’ve been on the IVF program.’
Mac dropped his cutlery onto his plate and sat back in his chair. His expression was grim.
‘IVF . . .’ Caroline said, trying to take it all in, ‘for years, did you say?’
‘Yes, Mum. Please don’t be offended. I haven’t told you because I didn’t want you to have to go through it with me, so to speak.’
‘Oh darling, we’re your parents. It’s not your job to protect us.’
‘When did you start the program exactly?’ Bernard asked.
‘Well, it was not long after we moved to Sydney.’
‘But that’s seven years,’ Caroline remarked, and Anna could hear the hurt in her voice.
‘It hasn’t been quite that long,’ said Anna. ‘There were all the investigations first, then they try you on fertility drugs, and . . .’ she faltered. She didn’t want to say insemination. Anna had barely spoken to anyone about the treatment in detail, and she realised now that sharing it with her parents was a little embarrassing. ‘They try other less invasive procedures first, until eventually you’re offered IVF.’
‘What made you decide to go ahead with it, Anna?’ asked Caroline. ‘And Mac,’ she added, ‘how do you feel about this?’
Anna spoke before he had a chance to answer. ‘We had been trying to have a baby for a couple of years with no luck, so we decided to investigate.’
‘But you knew my history, darling.’
‘Yes, Mum, but it’s a bit of an oxymoron to presuppose that infertility is genetic.’
‘But I wasn’t infertile,’ Caroline corrected her. ‘I did get pregnant eventually. You didn’t think of just adopting a wait-and-see attitude?’
‘There was no need. They didn’t have the technology years ago that they have now. There were options available to me that weren’t available to you.’
Caroline and Bernard exchanged a glance.
‘What about side effects?’ Bernard asked. He’d been wearing the face since Anna broached the subject. The inscrutable face that he must have perfected as a practising psychiatrist. It allowed him to ask questions, comment, weigh up what he was hearing, without ever giving away how he felt.
‘There are some side effects . . .’ Anna began.
‘There are many side effects,’ Mac interrupted, finally getting the chance to speak. ‘Headaches, nausea, fatigue, pain. She’s been through it all. Once she even had to be hospitalised for a serious reaction to the drugs.’
‘Mac,’ Anna muttered.
‘Hospitalised!’ exclaimed Caroline. ‘Why didn’t you tell us this was going on, Anna?’
‘Like I said, I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘So why are you telling us now?’ Bernard asked, his expression still unreadable. Mostly. Anna could sense his disapproval. Her mother’s too. She felt defensive. She’d expected them to be miffed about not being told, but she didn’t expect an inquisition. It was almost as if she had to justify it to them.
‘It seemed about time,’ she said weakly.
‘We’re at a bit of a stalemate,’ Mac explained. Anna wished he’d just shut up. ‘The doctor’s recommending that we take a break, and I agree. Anna’s . . . reluctant.’
‘You should listen to your doctor,’ said Bernard soberly.
‘Your father’s right,’ Caroline chimed in.
Anna took a deep breath, almost gritting her teeth. ‘It was more a suggestion than a recommendation,’ she asserted.
‘Still–’
‘What the doctor actually said was that it was entirely up to me,’ she blurted.
The silence that met her was icy. As was the expression in her parents’ eyes, staring back at her.
‘Surely,’ said Bernard, ‘what you meant to say is that it’s up to you and your husband?’
‘Don’t blame me because your little plan backfired.’
‘Could you keep your voice down, Mac?’ Anna whispered irritably.
They were in the guestroom, getting ready to go out to dinner for a slightly belated celebration of her father’s birthday.
‘All I’m saying is you didn’t have to be so negative,’ she went on, her voice hushed. ‘Now you have them thinking the program is somehow dangerous and my health’s at risk.’
‘Well, it is, Anna.’
‘That’s rubbish and you know it. Plenty of women go through IVF with no ill effects at all.’
‘But not you,’ he replied firmly. ‘And not for such a long time.’
Anna turned away. She didn’t have a comeback for that.
Mac sat down and began to take off his shoes. ‘Look, you decided to tell your parents, so you deal with it. I had to deal with it all these years when I wanted to tell them, when I was worried about you, when you were in the hospital, for Chrissakes, and you wouldn’t let me say a word.’
‘Because I didn’t want to worry them,’ she insisted.
‘But you don’t mind worrying them now?’
Anna sighed heavily. ‘You don’t understand. I just didn’t want them to have to go through all the highs and lows with us. I thought I’d be able to surprise them one day. Show up and announce I was pregnant, that we were expecting their grandchild.’ She paused. ‘But that was beginning to look like it was never going to happen, so I thought it was time they were told what’s been going on.’
Mac was unmoved. ‘Be honest, Anna, you only wanted them to know so you could get them on side.’ He stood up and walked over to the bed where his suitcase lay open. ‘But you didn’t count on your parents having objections, did you? You cooked up this little game and now you’re pissed off because you couldn’t control all the players.’ He picked up his shaving bag. ‘I’m going to have a shower,’ he said, leaving the room.
‘Tom, you have an IVF program running at the Royal, don’t you?’
Anna’s ears pricked up but she would not join the conversation. At least not until she knew where her father was going with his line of questioning. Tom York was an old family friend, a medical researcher who divided his time between Monash University and the Royal Hospital for Women. If she hadn’t known better, Anna might have suspected her father had invited Tom tonight simply to lecture her. But as she’d only made her revelation this afternoon, that was unreasonably paranoid of her.
‘I think you’ll find they pioneered IVF at the Royal, Bernard,’ Tom pointed out.
‘So they did,’ Bernard deferred. ‘Tell me, is there much research being done these days into side effects?’
Anna groaned inwardly.
‘What, you mean immediate side effects from the drugs?’
‘No, no, I was thinking more long-term. Now that IVF has been around for a while, are they finding any causal links to cancer, for example?’
‘You’ve hit on a contentious issue there, Bernard,’ Tom replied. ‘For years there have been concerns about the higher incidence of breast, uterine, ovarian, cervical cancers in patients, but no studies have been able to prove anything conclusively. Still IVF is relatively young. Time will tell. Why the interest?’
Bernard hesitated, glancing across the table at his daughter. Anna made sure her face conveyed a mixture of anguish and pique that would stop her father in his tracks.
‘Well I for one do not wish to spend the evening talking about cancer,’ Caroline declared. ‘It’s certainly not the topic for a birthday party.’
Anna picked up her wine glass and proceeded slowly, though she hoped discreetly, to drain it. Edward O’Brien was sitting to her left. He and Bernard had been psych registrars together, Anna had known him forever. He noticed that her glass was empty and immediately refilled it for her. ‘Thank you, Ed.’
‘My pleasure, dear,’ he said, squeezing her hand.
He returned to his conversation at the other end of the table, and Anna sat back, surveying the gathering. All these familiar faces, old friends who had been staple visitors to the house while she was growing up, people whom she had called ‘uncle’ or ‘aunty’. Now grandparents all. She wondered if her mother and father had put up with the same kind of pressure she and Mac had over the years. The baby pictures, the baby talk. Did ‘When are you two going to get on with it and start a family?’ translate one generation back into ‘When is that daughter of yours going to give you a grandchild?’? Anna suspected it did.
She took a long, slow sip from her glass. The wine was beginning to infuse her with warmth; she was feeling that pleasant buzz, that sense of wellbeing that made her problems seem very small and infinitely manageable. Her eyes came to rest on Mac. He was seated across the table from her, engrossed in a conversation with Phillip Selway, who was neither an academic nor any kind of medical practitioner but an economist who worked as an adviser in the merchant banking sector. Mac and Phil tended to gravitate towards each other at these get-togethers, soul mates from the corporate sector. Anna watched her husband. He was a handsome man. Not in a movie idol kind of way, but he had strong, defined features and bottomless eyes the colour of slate. His face was so familiar to her that sometimes she forgot how handsome he was, how attractive she had found him when he had first come to court her. An old-fashioned term, but it was the only way to describe the way he had behaved. He was at once charming and confident, full of ambition and mature beyond his years, yet at the same time quite awestruck and boyish around her. Anna had felt it keenly, it turned a girl’s head to be the object of such devotion, such single-minded determination to win her over. If only he’d known he didn’t have to try so hard.
Anna sat back in her chair, her legs crossed, clutching her arms around herself as she rested the glass against her lips, drawing the wine into her mouth in a slow, steady stream. It was like honey, gliding down her throat, filling her up like a sweet elixir, soothing her soul, warming her belly. Anna wanted to go home and lie naked next to Mac. No, not next to him. She wanted to be entwined around him, she wanted to feel his skin against hers, to feel his heart beating, his lips . . .
Anna swallowed. She felt flushed and a little breathless. Her glass was empty again. She reached for a bottle on the table in front of her. Mac must have seen her out of the corner of his eye and he picked it up first.
‘Here, let me do that,’ he said. Ever the gentleman. Mac began to pour the wine into her glass, his head bent towards Phil, still listening to him. He glanced across at Anna, only fleetingly, but enough to make a flash assessment of her condition. He stopped pouring, the glass half full. Or half empty. A brief, disapproving cloud passed over his features before he returned his full attention to Phil. Anna picked up the glass and resumed her slow, steady pattern of emptying its contents. Ed would refill it for her soon enough. She was going to drink as much as she wanted tonight. As much as she needed.
As much as she needed turned out to be a little too much. Anna slowed down when she realised she was getting woozy, but the damage had already been done. When she went to get up from the table she felt unsteady, but before she knew it Mac was at her side, discreetly supporting her. She leaned heavily against him as they walked from the restaurant to her parents’ car, and he kept hold of her while he opened the door and helped her into her seat. Bless him.
But back at the apartment, alone in their room, Mac ignored her. Anna had to put all her concentration into getting changed, preferably without falling over. She didn’t want to disgust him. He’d been kind, even a little affectionate, helping her to the car. She had to get him to respond to her tonight. They had to reconnect. If he was insisting on this break, ‘to see what they had together’, then she had to show him that what they had was fine. More than fine. And she had to do that as soon as possible so they could stop all this nonsense and get back onto the program.
She went to the bathroom to brush her teeth. Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Anna realised this wasn’t only about whether or not they continued with IVF. She missed Mac. She missed the way he was gentle and tender and caring towards her. Always. He had been such a good husband, but she feared she hadn’t always been the best wife. Not intentionally, but the hormones and the treatment had at times made her pretty hard to love. And throughout Mac had been steadfast and patient. She had been wrong to suggest he hadn’t been through much. He deserved a medal just for putting up with her.
Anna sniffed. Tears had crept into her eyes. She knew it was the alcohol making her sentimental, but so what? That didn’t make what she was feeling any less valid. She couldn’t wait to get into bed and hold Mac close. She rinsed out her mouth repeatedly before drinking a large glass of water. She wasn’t feeling too bad now as she switched off the light and walked back into the bedroom. It was in darkness, Mac was already in bed, turned away from her. Anna lifted the covers and climbed in, sidling over until she was snuggled against his back. He didn’t move. She slid her arm around him, bringing her hand up to his chest. Still nothing. Anna was undaunted. She ran her fingertips across his skin, through the fine layer of hair covering his chest as she lifted her head to kiss his shoulder.
‘Anna, I’m trying to get to sleep.’
Not the reaction she was hoping for, but the one she was half expecting. She held him tighter, drawing her thigh up against his, speaking softly into his ear.
‘I was watching you in the restaurant, Mac, and all I could think about was being with you. We haven’t . . . for such a long time.’
He sighed heavily. ‘You’re drunk.’
‘I had a little too much to drink, I know–’
‘You had a lot too much.’
‘Mac, look at me,’ she said, propping herself up on one elbow. He shifted slightly, turning his head around towards her. ‘I’m fine, I stopped when I felt it going to my head.’
She couldn’t really see his expression in the darkness, not what was in his eyes.
‘Mac?’
‘What do you want me to say?’
‘Nothing, nothing at all,’ she whispered huskily, drawing closer and kissing him softly on the lips. He didn’t respond.
‘I’m not in the mood, okay, Anna?’ he said, turning away from her again.
Anna ignored the tight feeling in her chest and bent to kiss his shoulder, inching towards his neck as she moved her hand down his chest to his abdomen. ‘I bet I can get you into the mood,’ she breathed, slipping her fingers under the edge of his boxer shorts. But before she could get any further, Mac grasped her wrist and pushed her hand away.
‘For crying out loud, Anna!’ he exclaimed, throwing the covers off and sitting up on the edge of the bed. ‘Can’t you just take no for an answer?’
Anna lay back against the pillows, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. ‘But we haven’t made love for ages, Mac.’
She saw his shoulders drop. ‘Your timing is incredible, Anna. Why would you choose to wait until we’re at your parents’ place, for Chrissakes?’
‘I didn’t wait . . . look, I didn’t plan this, okay?’ Anna returned. ‘At home I’m always asleep by the time you come upstairs. You never get home before midnight–’
‘Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little, Anna?’
She levered herself upright and leaned back against the bedhead. ‘All I know, Mac, is that you said we had to take a break so we could see what we had together, but ever since then you’ve been keeping your distance from me. I don’t understand what’s going on with you lately.’
Mac turned around to look at her. She still couldn’t clearly see the expression in his eyes. ‘Did you expect me to forget what you said, to act like you never said it?’
‘No, but I told you I was sorry. And you know I didn’t mean it anyway.’
‘How do I know that?’
Anna groaned. ‘If you love me, then you’d know I could never have meant it.’
‘Huh,’ he scoffed ruefully, ‘that’s rich. So now it becomes a test of my love for you? Very clever, Anna.’
‘That’s not what I meant–’
‘And that’s becoming a habit. Saying things you don’t mean.’
Anna sighed. ‘This is an argument about words, Mac. It’s ridiculous. We’re not getting anywhere.’
‘I agree,’ he said, lifting the covers and lying down again, turning away from her.
Anna glared at the back of his head. ‘So you’re just going to ignore me now?’
‘This is not the time, Anna.’
‘Well exactly when is the time, Mac?’ she demanded. ‘Whenever I try to talk to you, you say it’s not the right time!’
Mac breathed out audibly. ‘I’m not going to have the conversation you want to have, here in your parents’ home, at . . .’ He reached for the bedside clock and turned it round to face him. ‘. . . 12:42 in the frigging morning,’ he finished curtly. ‘I’m going to sleep.’
Anna bit her lip, sinking back down under the covers. She looked across at Mac. She would have liked to cuddle into him, but she couldn’t even do that now. If only she hadn’t pushed it tonight. Mac was probably right, it wasn’t a good time, but she was starting to wonder if there was ever going to be a good time. Anna turned over, away from him. The vacant expanse of bed between them was like a deep chasm, they were so far away from each other. And getting further all the time.