Nadia dropped the girls and Harry at school. She smiled briefly at the other mums, but didn’t engage in conversation, instead hurrying back through the school grounds and out the gate to her car. She got inside and closed the door, then leaned back in her seat, trying to breathe slowly. She didn’t know what to do. She didn’t want to go home; she couldn’t think there among all the clutter and mess.
A car horn beeped. Nadia jumped and looked up. A four-wheel drive had pulled up next to her, and the driver was leaning over, seatbelt straining, waving at Nadia through the open passenger window. Nadia lowered her own window.
‘Are you going?’ the woman shouted.
Nadia stared at her. ‘I’m —’
‘You’re in the drop-off area, can you move?’
Nadia nodded and mumbled an apology, then quickly put on her seatbelt and turned the key in the ignition. Her hands shook; her mouth was dry. She pulled out, and the other car reversed up the street, then swooped into her space.
Nadia drove a few metres to the junction with the highway, then began to cry. She wished she’d parked further up the street, away from the drop-off zone, and walked; then she’d never have had to encounter that awful woman. And why had she apologised? She’d done nothing wrong. She’d had enough of everyone telling her what to do, of giving every part of herself to other people.
The road in front of her was clear. She flicked the indicator right, in the direction of home, then changed her mind and flicked it left instead. She turned onto the highway, and drove past the old flourmill, its giant red dingo logo towering over her. She turned right over the Fremantle traffic bridge, then right again towards the town centre, went past the prison and kept going. She drove for half an hour, then turned around and drove back, this time alongside the water, heading towards the beaches of North Fremantle.
The wind rocked the car as she pulled into the beach car park. Nearby was an old kiosk with faded ice-cream adverts and a closed grey metal shutter on the front. The dark green shrubs on the dunes were buffeted by gusts of wind, and the ocean was churning, white waves breaking on the beach then tumbling back out. Past the breakers the water was teal, the sky an electric grey; on the horizon was the silhouette of a container ship.
Nadia pushed the car door open against the wind, pressed the fob button to lock the car, then ran along the path and up the stairs into the shelter of the new cafe above the surf club.
A waitress with a tattoo of a dove on her wrist led her to one end of a long wooden table. The glass doors to the balcony were closed and streaked with raindrops. Nadia sat on a green wooden chair, ordered a flat white and a slice of lemon and poppy-seed cake and stared out of the window.
She had felt so detached from the world over the past few months. The only person who made her feel alive now was Louise, but those moments of joy were tangled up with heartbreak whenever she said goodbye to her. The only people who understood were the women of the relinquishing mothers’ group. These women – Tracey, Jill, the others – they all had regrets; every single one of them said that if they could turn back the clock they would do anything to hold onto their children, no matter how hard it would be. Because life without their children was harder. It was because of them that after their last meeting Nadia had pored over the legislation to see if there was anything she could do. But, then, she had quickly realised that there was no way to challenge the parentage order: without an exceptional reason, there was no way to get Louise back.
But now things had changed.
When Rosemary had called yesterday and told her that Zoe had disappeared that morning with Louise, Nadia had screamed and sobbed in Eddie’s arms. He’d held her and told her not to worry, that they’d come back soon, but he didn’t understand. He never had. It wasn’t just the physical connection of pregnancy that he had missed out on; Eddie had avoided anything to do with the surrogacy. He’d done the things he had to – the legal and counselling sessions – but he hadn’t gone with her to the antenatal appointments, or the scans. He must have known how difficult it would be for her to see the baby on the screen while Zoe and Lachlan hugged and cried and wanted the ultrasound photos for their damn baby book, but he had taken the easy way out, detached himself from the pregnancy, and from Louise. He’d detached himself from Nadia, too. He had no right now to tell her that her feelings weren’t legitimate.
On the phone, Rosemary had told her to calm down, that Zoe had left a note saying not to worry and that she just needed some time to think. Afterwards, Nadia had called Zoe’s mobile again and again, but it was switched off. She did trust Zoe to keep Louise safe, physically, in the short term at least; she knew Zoe loved Louise as if she was her own. But she couldn’t trust Lachlan. Not after what he’d done. He was unstable, he could be dangerous. And Nadia was sure Zoe would go back to him: she’d seen how she defended him, even while her bruises were still forming. On the other hand, if Zoe didn’t go back to him, Louise would then be raised by a single mother, who would have to work shifts to earn a pittance, who had a chronic illness and could end up in hospital, sick or disabled, at any time. The thought that had kept Nadia wide awake all night was the fear that Zoe might never come back, and that Nadia might never see Louise again.
When they’d all gone through the counselling before starting the surrogacy, the four of them had discussed hypothetical situations: what would happen if the scan showed the baby had Down syndrome or was born with another disability? What would happen if Zoe and Lachlan split up? They’d all laughed; it had seemed so unlikely. Hypothetically, they’d said that Louise would remain in the shared custody of her parents, Lachlan and Zoe. But they hadn’t just split up; Lachlan was disturbed, violent. And in Nadia’s eyes, that meant all bets were off. She would not have her daughter – and Louise was her daughter – put at risk, physically or emotionally. Louise needed stability, a family who could provide for her best interests. The way things were, Louise’s best interests were not being met with Zoe – either with or without Lachlan. What kind of mother packs up a baby already traumatised from domestic violence, and takes her away from her family?
The coffee and cake arrived. She sipped slowly and picked at her cake. She needed to sit here for a while longer, among normal people going about their everyday lives. She imagined what she would say to someone else in her situation. An alcoholic, unemployed and unstable father, and an ill, erratic mother who disappeared with a traumatised baby. Nadia shook her head. She knew what she had to do. She had to detach herself from the fact that Zoe was her family. She had no choice: this was no longer about them; it was all about Louise.