Zoe ran down the escalators to the ground floor of the shopping centre. She could see Rosemary sitting at a cafe table on the floor of the mall. Zoe would rather they sat inside where she didn’t have to watch all the mums pushing their babies in strollers with toddlers running alongside. The centre was new, all silver and white and glass and metal, high ceilings and touch-screen maps, but the shops were the same old high-street chains that you found everywhere. Zoe reached the bottom of the escalator and hurried past a nail salon where Vietnamese girls scurried around the silk-scarved middle-aged women having pedicures.
Just before she reached the cafe, Zoe paused and looked in the window of a luggage shop. Her face looked OK in the reflection, but it would probably still be blotchy in the daylight. Her mother would certainly notice. She reached into her bag and pulled out a lip gloss that she’d got free with a magazine. The colour wasn’t right, but she put it on anyway. Moving into her mother’s line of sight, she waved. Rosemary smiled and waved back.
‘Hi, Mum. Sorry I’m late.’ Zoe leaned down and kissed Rosemary’s cheek, then put her bag on the floor and sat down.
‘I haven’t been here long, it’s fine.’ Rosemary waved her hand dismissively, her plum-coloured nails catching the light.
Zoe smiled and sighed. She knew her mother would have been here for at least ten minutes, and probably longer.
Rosemary picked up the cardboard menu and scanned it. ‘Do you want anything to eat?’
Zoe shook her head. ‘Just a coffee.’
‘You look like you need it.’
Zoe shrugged. ‘I didn’t sleep very well last night. Where’s the waitress?’ She looked over her shoulder to break her mother’s stare, and caught the eye of a young, red-cheeked girl, who smiled and came over to their table.
Once they had ordered, Zoe turned back to her mum and said quietly, ‘I’m sorry about the other night. The party.’
‘Oh, love, there’s nothing to be sorry about. I’m sorry we were all so preoccupied and didn’t realise what was going on. How are you feeling?’
Zoe’s face heated up and her eyes prickled with tears again. She blinked hard and looked away. ‘I’m OK. Anyway, I hope I didn’t ruin it.’
‘Of course not. No one even noticed!’
‘Did the rest of the night go well?’
Rosemary smiled. ‘Well, Martin and Uncle Mark ended up drinking whiskey and singing a duet at two in the morning, so I’d say so!’
Zoe smiled as she pictured her stepfather. She hated to think that she might have ruined his special night. Martin never seemed to let anything worry him, although Zoe knew that it must be a veneer. He had lost his first wife, Hilary, to cancer when Nadia was only an infant. Zoe had always wondered how Rosemary had managed to deal with the emotional repercussions of taking on a traumatised widower and his young daughter. Of course, Martin had taken them on too: Rosemary, scarred from divorce; and Zoe, a toddler who missed her father. That was different, though – her dad was estranged, but still alive, living in Sydney and full of flaws. But Hilary’s memory was held sacred.
The waitress returned with their coffees. Rosemary smiled and shifted the menu and sugar bowl to the side to make room for their drinks. When the waitress had gone, Rosemary shook her head and tutted. ‘Half my coffee is in the saucer.’
Zoe sighed. ‘Well, you should have said something.’
‘What’s the point? The prices they charge for some coffee beans and milk, they should employ someone who knows what they’re doing.’
‘She’s probably studying law or medicine, and doing this on the side in the holidays. Maybe she recognised you from university and has a grudge against you …’ Zoe tried to joke, aware as she said it that neither of them was in a jovial mood. Rosemary worked in the university library, and there were still a few weeks before the new semester started.
‘It doesn’t matter if this isn’t her career. She should still take pride in her work.’
Zoe sipped her coffee, stopping herself from reacting to the phrase she’d heard so many times before. Even when Zoe had been sick, Rosemary had always made her try her best, reminded her that she must always be proud of herself and everything she did. Zoe knew it had been her mother’s attempt to prop up Zoe’s self-esteem. What Rosemary had never said aloud, though, was that there had never been much for Zoe to be proud of. Nadia was the one whom everybody admired: clever, pretty. Healthy.
Rosemary wiped her saucer and the bottom of her cup with a napkin, then took a sip. She cleared her throat. ‘Zoe, I’m so sorry to hear about … well, you know …’
Why didn’t she say it? ‘About not being able to have a baby?’
Rosemary nodded, then reached across the table for Zoe’s hand. ‘I was so shocked, we all were. It breaks my heart.’ Her eyes filled with tears and she took another napkin from the metal dispenser on the table.
Zoe pressed her lips together. She had barely been able to contain her tears for the past few days. At home, she had let herself go: she cried, she shouted, she screamed. What did it matter if she wallowed in it? She had taken sick leave from work, and let herself lie on the couch all day and watch television while poor Lachlan begged her to talk to him. But she had hoped that being out, doing something normal, might make her feel better. She needed to hold it all together here. She shook her head quickly, then pressed her fingers to her temples. ‘I can’t talk about it now, Mum, sorry.’
‘I know, darling. It’s OK.’
Zoe drank her coffee just for something to do. It wasn’t OK though, and that was what was so awful. She had never understood how much she wanted children until the doctor had told her that she couldn’t have them. Perhaps it was only because she couldn’t that she now felt so desperate. She’d spent her life having to relinquish control to other people, to her illness. Not a week went by without hearing about someone who’d beaten the odds: run a marathon after shattering their spine; swum the Channel after having limbs amputated; been cured of an incurable cancer. But this wasn’t a case of showing determination; there was no miracle waiting for her around the corner if she only fought harder. If only. It was luck, bad luck. Fate.
People would always wonder why she had no children. She had done the same in the past when she’d met childless couples. She’d pitied them, imagined their distress at miscarriages or failed fertility treatments. She supposed some couples were childless by choice, but couldn’t really imagine that now. After all, who doesn’t really want to have children? What would people think of her? What would she tell them?
She breathed out. ‘Sorry, it’s just hard for me to talk about.’
‘So there’s nothing they can do, nothing at all?’
Zoe shook her head. ‘No. Nothing.’
‘What about adoption … ?’
‘I don’t want someone else’s child. And …’ Her voice dropped into a whisper. ‘I want a baby, Mum. I want my own child. I wanted Lachlan and me to have a baby of our own, one that looked like us, that was made of parts of us.’
Rosemary leaned forward. ‘But you’d soon think of an adopted baby as your own.’
Zoe’s voice rose. ‘I wouldn’t. Every time I looked at the child I’d know that its mother was crying somewhere, wondering where her son or daughter was. You’d have to be desperate to give up your baby, or a terrible mother. And I don’t want a child who’s scarred by that loss, who has something missing. Even an infant knows his mother, and that would never be me. It’s like our family: you must feel the difference between me and Nadia, don’t you?’
Rosemary paled, but she said nothing.
‘Oh, Mum, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to put you on the spot.’ Zoe had overheard Rosemary telling Nadia many times that she was as much her daughter as Zoe, but Zoe had always assumed that it wasn’t true.
‘It’s OK. What about surrogacy? You hear about it all the time now. Didn’t that actress, what’s her name —’
Zoe shook her head again. ‘It still wouldn’t be my child – my body isn’t making eggs any more.’
‘People donate their eggs – I’ve been reading about it. Or you can buy them overseas.’
‘Mum, we’re talking about a baby. I can’t just … buy one from China or Thailand or wherever, like a cheap handbag.’
‘I’m just saying it’s an option, darling. At least the baby would be Lachlan’s.’
‘Lachlan’s and someone else’s! That would be worse.’ Zoe had thought about it, but feared that she might never be able to love a child who reminded her of her failings every time she looked at it.
‘Just give it some time. You might change your mind. You do come to think of children as your own, even when you didn’t give birth to them, I promise.’
Zoe nodded. Her mum was right: in the midst of this thick, cloying grief it was impossible to clear her eyes and her head and her heart; she couldn’t rule anything out. But how could she and Lachlan adopt a child, with him away all the time? Zoe would need Lachlan’s support to care for a child who’d been torn from its mother, and that support was part-time and distant even now. And if he was a part-time and distant husband, then it was better that he didn’t become the same type of father. But it was too hard to explain all these things to other people. There was no point in talking about it, not even with her mother.
‘Thanks, Mum.’ She had finished her coffee now, and took it as an opportunity to change the subject. ‘Hey, I might go and see a movie this afternoon, do you want to come?’
‘Sounds great. Something funny, yes?’
Zoe smiled. ‘Definitely.’
‘Here you are.’ Nadia handed a glass of white wine to Rosemary. ‘Dad, you still OK for beer?’
‘Yeah, I’m good thanks,’ Martin said, smiling.
Nadia poured herself a glass then sat down on the wooden garden chair next to Eddie. She sipped her drink and reached for an olive from the tub on the table. The girls were inside playing dress-up, and Harry was right next to the adults, in the plastic clamshell sandpit. She leaned back and let out an exaggerated sigh. ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘It’s good to see you both here. I know it’s a long drive.’
‘Part of the attraction of living in the hills, eh?’ Martin said, smiling.
‘Yes, for me, but Eddie gets a bit fed up with commuting an hour to work every day, don’t you?’ Nadia nudged Eddie.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘It’s a bit tiring.’
‘I think he likes the peace and quiet of the drive, a good excuse to stay away from the kids.’ Nadia winked at her dad, then leaned into Eddie. ‘Only joking.’
Eddie raised his eyebrows.
‘I texted Zoe in case she wanted to come over too, but she didn’t reply,’ Nadia said.
‘How is she, Rosemary?’ Eddie said.
‘Oh, I don’t know. I had a coffee with her today, then we went to a movie. She’s putting on a brave face, but she’s not good.’ Rosemary shrugged. ‘You know what she’s like. She doesn’t like to talk about things.’
‘Did you get any more details from her?’ Nadia was frowning. ‘Is there definitely nothing that the doctors can do?’
Rosemary shook her head. ‘I called Lachlan too this afternoon, just in case … well, sometimes you don’t take in all the information at medical appointments when you’re upset. But he said the doctor was definite. They can adopt, or use a surrogate. That’s it.’
‘Shit,’ Eddie said. ‘Do you think they will?’
Rosemary sighed. ‘I don’t know. Zoe’s adamant that she wants her own baby. She kept saying that adopted kids would have problems.’
‘She’s probably right,’ Nadia said. She’d worked with enough disturbed kids – before she had her own children – who’d been through the child protection system to know that it wasn’t easy for them, or for the families who took them on.
‘But she’d cope, she’s a kids’ nurse!’ said Martin. ‘What better person is there to adopt?’
‘Yeah, but Dad, it’s not easy. By the time a child’s been fostered in dozens of families, not to mention the abuse or neglect that got them there in the first place, they’ve often got issues.’
Martin moved his chair back into the shade, which had shifted as the sun dropped lower. ‘But not all kids up for adoption have been abused or neglected, love. Maybe their parents have died or something.’
‘That’s still a huge trauma for a kid, Dad.’
Martin nodded, then looked down at his feet. Nadia watched him out of the corner of her eye. He never spoke about her mum. But she knew he still thought about her, particularly at moments such as this. She knew he wasn’t looking at his shoes, the tiny green shoots of onion grass sprouting up between the patio bricks, the trail of ants tramping across the ground. He was seeing Hilary. Did he see Hilary as his young wife, happy, vibrant, laughing? Or did he see her in her final days, fading in a hospital bed? Nadia wished she could remember her mother. She glanced at Rosemary and her face flushed with guilt. Rosemary had always been there, trying to fill the space left by Hilary’s death, but despite her best efforts, had never quite succeeded.
‘Martin. Could you pass me the chips, please?’ Rosemary’s voice was a little too loud, her smile strained.
Martin looked up, startled, then slid the bowl over the table towards Rosemary.
Rosemary took a chip, ate half of it, then spoke. ‘Anyway, Zoe won’t hear of it right now, but I think surrogacy might be her best option.’
‘Surely the process would be just as complicated as adoption – more, even,’ Eddie said, frowning.
Rosemary shrugged. ‘It happens all the time these days. I was reading about it in a magazine last week, a gay man bought eggs from Thailand and then used two different surrogates in India and got twins!’ Nadia noticed Rosemary glance at her before she continued in a casual tone. ‘The problem is, it’s illegal to pay someone to act as a surrogate here, so she’d need to find someone who’d do it for altruistic reasons, or else go overseas, which is very expensive.’
‘I can’t imagine many people would volunteer to do it,’ Martin said.
Rosemary glared at him. ‘I’d do it in a heartbeat if I could.’
Nadia shifted uncomfortably. ‘Well, there’s not much point in us talking about this. It’s her decision, hers and Lachlan’s. And, to be honest, it sounded to me like she was pretty final. I can’t imagine them wanting to go through the stress of all that anytime soon.’
Rosemary wiped a drop of wine from the side of her glass with her finger. ‘But just imagine, Nadia. Imagine that you never got to experience having Charlotte, or Violet, or Harry. How would that feel?’
Nadia flinched. She had imagined how it would feel, over and over. She didn’t need to be reminded. She had spent her adolescence being told how lucky she was to be the healthy one who didn’t have to be in and out of hospital or take medications with terrible side effects as her sister did. Nadia looked over at Harry, pottering around in the sandpit, and her face burned as she felt unmistakable relief that she wasn’t Zoe.
‘I can’t imagine,’ she mumbled. ‘Oh, Harry, don’t eat the sand!’ She stood up and hurried over to her son so she didn’t have to look at her stepmother and consider what she was suggesting.
‘Daddy!’
Nadia looked up from folding the washing as Charlotte ran out of the room towards the front door. She saw the pink netting of her daughter’s fairy dress disappear down the hallway, then heard her squeal and laugh as Eddie greeted her. Nadia picked up the piles of folded clothes from the couch, put them in the basket and balanced it on her hip as she opened the laundry door, then shoved it inside. She closed the door behind her, quickly untied her ponytail and combed her fingers through her hair, then surveyed the house. To her left, the kitchen wasn’t too bad: an open carton of milk; coloured plastic plates with half-eaten muffins; the girls’ lunchboxes next to the sink waiting to be emptied. In front of her, the ash dining table was covered with colouring books and pencils. The girls’ schoolbags were abandoned on the floor, and Harry’s toys were strewn around the room.
Eddie walked down the hallway carrying Harry in one arm, the other holding Charlotte’s hand. Violet skipped along behind him waving her magic wand. Nadia couldn’t help but smile at the joy on the children’s faces at being with their father.
In the first few days after she and Eddie had heard about Zoe and Lachlan’s infertility, they had felt a renewed closeness to each other, both consciously cherishing their relationship and the children. Their affection towards each other had seemed less cursory, more spontaneous, but as the weeks had passed, they had drifted back to routine. It wasn’t just Eddie – Nadia was aware that she too had slipped back into the tangle of her children, her home, wishing each day would end so that she could have some peace, some time to herself. But she kept catching herself, reminding herself that this knot of children and chores that she was entwined in was what life was. And that no matter how tired she was, Charlotte, Violet and Harry made her laugh every day, and when their skinny, smooth little arms hugged her at bedtime, she knew that this life she had chosen, as a mother, was more important than anything else. And then she would think of Zoe.
Nadia had meant to call Zoe today, but had run out of time – again. In the first few weeks after the party, she and Zoe had talked every day, met for lunch, gone for long walks together while Nadia did what she could to support her. But more recently, Zoe seemed to be coping better, and Nadia had stopped making the effort. Her face flushed with guilt; she would definitely call Zoe tomorrow. She knew her sister would still be struggling.
‘You’re home early!’ she said, as Eddie put Harry down.
Eddie nodded. ‘I thought you’d be happy.’
‘I didn’t say I wasn’t.’
‘I thought I’d come back first. Dinner’s not until eight.’
‘Dinner?’
‘Remember, I told you? I’m going out tonight. The guys are over from Singapore.’
‘You didn’t tell me. I wish —’
‘Yes I did! I told you last week.’
He hadn’t, she was sure. She didn’t forget things like that. She spoke slowly, trying to stay calm. ‘Well, I don’t remember you telling me.’ She pointed to the whiteboard on the kitchen wall, where she updated the week’s activities every Sunday night. ‘Maybe next time you could write it on the timetable.’
He raised his eyebrows, smiling a little.
Nadia shook her head and smiled back. ‘Fine. I was going to get takeaway for us anyway. Take the kids outside on the trampoline for a while so I can get their dinner on.’
‘OK, I’ll just get changed.’
Nadia started cleaning up while Eddie marshalled the kids. What would happen if Eddie came home one night and she told him without warning that she was off to have dinner with friends? Why did he think that he could just make plans without discussing them with her? He assumed she had nothing better to do, that of course she would look after the children while he did whatever he wanted. It was his job: that was always his trump card. What could she say to that? He was the earner, he had to work, and that involved going out to dinner, making overseas phone calls late at night and early in the morning, and travelling around the world.
Eddie rarely said it out loud, but they both knew that Nadia had wanted to give up her job when they had children, so she had also given up the right to complain. She’d always planned to go back to work when Charlotte was six months old. But when the days and weeks rushed by and Charlotte grew before her eyes, the thought of leaving her in a daycare centre to compete with other babies for attention filled Nadia with fear. She was a psychologist; she knew how important that first year was, and having grown up without her own mother, she wanted to make sure that she and Charlotte had the relationship that she and Hilary had never been able to have. Eddie had been happy when she extended her leave: he liked her being at home, and they didn’t need her income, not really. She’d planned to take another six months off, and then she’d go back, when Charlotte would at least be able to play a bit more independently, move around. But instead of enjoying the extra time with her daughter, Nadia had started to count down the months then weeks before she’d have to leave Charlotte with someone else. Anyway, she had wanted another child, so the best plan was to stop breastfeeding and fall pregnant again quickly, the perfect excuse to stay home longer. When she felt that familiar shift in gravity, that queasiness when she stood up, she had told her manager that instead of returning from maternity leave, she was leaving the workforce to look after her children. She hadn’t wanted to be a working mum; being a mum was more than enough.
It had been what she wanted – still was – but sometimes she wished it was her who was rushing out the door to a morning meeting or a dinner, leaving someone else to deal with the chaos of the children. No, not someone else: Eddie. So that he understood what it was really like; so he wouldn’t glance around the kitchen when he got home, and wonder what she’d done all day. How did other mothers manage to work and do all this – keep their house running and still spend enough time with their husbands, their children? It was more than that, though: how did they find enough energy to enjoy the time with their family, rather than resenting the moments children stole from their own need for space?
She closed her eyes for a second. What a bloody cliché she’d become – they’d become. But, she reminded herself, there was plenty of time for her to go back to work. And she had no right to complain: Eddie was a good dad.
She opened the fridge, took out the Pyrex bowl of marinated chicken pieces, and started to make the children’s dinner.
When the children were finally in bed, Nadia cooked herself some pasta, ate it quickly in front of the TV, then tidied away all the dishes and made the girls’ lunches for tomorrow. It was almost nine by the time she sat down again. Eddie would be halfway through dinner now, in some swanky restaurant with expensive wine. The kind of restaurants that they used to eat in together. Before children. She wondered who these clients from Singapore were. Were they women? Women who didn’t have children yet, young women full of drive and energy and fun, women who drank and flirted and had something interesting to talk about with her husband? Nadia could picture him smiling in that way he did with his head tilted to the side and his dimples winking, looking coy, the way he used to look at her. In her imagination, though, he was putting his hand on someone else’s shoulder, telling them that yes, he was married, but they had fallen out of love a long time ago. Nadia bit her lip. Was that the truth, the issue that she was skirting around, that they really had fallen out of love? But they hadn’t fallen – they had trudged and stumbled and slowed to a halt.
She shook off the thoughts. God, what was wrong with her? When did she start losing the trust she’d had in their marriage for so long? No, she was losing trust in herself, in the identity that was drifting away, getting lost in the doldrums, a painted ship on a painted ocean. She used to be proud of herself, to love what she was doing, raising the children. But now they were growing up: Harry would be in kindy in a little over a year. Then what would she do?
She pushed herself off the couch and walked into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She filled the kettle, switched it on, then off again. Opening the pantry, she looked at the case of wine – a fancy pinot, Eddie’s favourite – on the floor, under the shelves. She stuck a steak knife into the tape that held the box closed and dragged it towards her. She pulled out a bottle, smiled as she twisted the top off, then filled a glass to the brim.
She checked the time on the oven clock, and then picked up the cordless phone and took her wine over to the couch before dialling Zoe’s home number. It rang three times, and then the answering machine clicked on. Nadia sighed, then sipped her wine, swilling the taste of blackberries around her mouth as she listened to the automated recording telling her to leave a message.
‘Zoe,’ she began, ‘It’s me—’
‘Nadia.’
Nadia jumped as Zoe answered. ‘Oh, hi, sorry, did I wake you?’
‘No, of course not. Just watching a renovation show.’
‘Lachlan’s still away?’ Nadia asked, though she knew he was.
‘Yeah. Another week to go. What are you doing?’
Nadia sighed. ‘Oh, just the usual.’ She recalled Zoe’s accusations at the party. No, she wouldn’t tell Zoe her own problems tonight. They were insignificant. ‘Eddie’s out so I’m just having a glass of wine by myself.’
‘First sign, eh?’
Nadia smiled, picturing Zoe smiling too. ‘How are you, Zoe? I’m sorry I haven’t called you for a while, things just … well, I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be silly. Mum’s been making sure I have absolutely no time alone. Suddenly, she seems to be in the area an awful lot more than she ever was!’
Nadia laughed. ‘I can imagine! But seriously, how are you holding up?’
‘I’m fine, honestly. It’s a bit harder with Lachlan away but in some ways it’s easier, you know? Sometimes I don’t know what to say to him. He’s trying so hard to be positive. I know he’s upset too but neither of us seems able to talk about it properly to each other. I know he’s afraid he’ll upset me.’
Nadia leaned back on the cushions, resting her glass on the arm of the sofa. ‘It’ll get easier.’
‘I know. I just need to get back to some sort of routine, find something else to focus on.’
‘But Zoe, don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re allowed to be sad, and angry. It’s not fair. You’re allowed to grieve, no one expects you to just shrug it off.’
Zoe’s voice was thick and nasal. ‘Thanks, Nadia. Good job I’ve got a psychologist for a sister!’ She laughed and sniffed. ‘See, there I go again, crying. But seriously, I’m doing OK, I promise. Thank you for checking in on me. I appreciate it, I really do.’
Nadia wiped away a tear of her own. Zoe always had to just cope with everything thrown at her, and she always succeeded. ‘I wish I could do more. I’m here if you need me, you know that, yeah?’
‘Of course. Thanks, Nadia.’
‘Take care, and we’ll talk soon. Maybe I’ll take the kids over to see you on the weekend or something. They miss their Aunty Zoe.’
‘That would be great.’
Nadia ended the call, then drained her glass and stared at the black flecks in the dregs of the red wine. She ran her tongue around her mouth and scraped her bottom lip with her top teeth. She pictured Zoe getting into bed in her empty house, Lachlan’s side cold and empty, and knew that she’d probably cry a little, before falling into a fitful sleep.
Returning to the kitchen, Nadia refilled the glass, then put it down again and switched the kettle back on. She was lucky. Maybe her own marriage to Eddie wasn’t the fairytale, but their story wasn’t a tragedy either.
It was Friday again. Weeks had passed, each night much the same as every other, but Nadia hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Zoe. She put on her yellow rubber gloves and squirted some dishwashing liquid into the sink, then swirled the water around. She leaned close to the sink as Eddie squeezed past her to fill the kettle. While he took out two mugs, she began scrubbing the baking tray. She stared at the bubbles. How many times had they done this exact same thing? Once he’d made the tea and she’d finished the dishes, they’d sit on opposite ends of the couch, drink their tea and stare at the screen. Eddie would choose what to watch; Nadia would get bored and go to their room to read until he came to bed.
But this evening, she needed to talk to him. Not just the usual executive summary of the day – the kids, the bills, the problems – but a proper discussion. She breathed out slowly through her mouth to calm her nerves. It wasn’t that she was having second thoughts: she was sure she wanted to do this.
She took the clean tray out of the sink, rinsed it, then stacked it on the drainer. She turned around; Eddie was wiping down the benchtop. She cleared her throat. ‘Eddie.’
‘Mmm?’
‘I need to talk to you.’
‘OK.’ He turned to the fridge, opened it and took out a carton of milk.
She took off the gloves and reached for his arm, speaking gently. ‘Can you stop that for a minute?’
‘Just a second.’ He poured milk into each of the mugs, put the carton back in the fridge, then looked at her. ‘Are you OK?’
She steered him towards the dining table and they both sat down. ‘I’ve been thinking about something. We’re so lucky, you know. We love each other …’ Nadia smiled at him. He smiled back, though his brow was furrowed. ‘We’re happy, we’ve got three beautiful, healthy kids. Everything we could ever want, really.’
‘Yes …’
Nadia made herself continue in the same even tone. ‘I’ve been thinking about Zoe and Lachlan. You know, nothing seems to go right for them. She’s been ill for years, Lachlan’s always away, and now they can’t have kids.’
‘Yeah, it’s a shame —’
Nadia held up her hand. ‘Wait, let me finish.’
Eddie frowned. ‘Go on.’
Nadia’s heart was thumping now. Was she really going to say this? Do this? ‘Well, she’s my sister. And so I’ve been thinking, we’re so lucky. I thought maybe I could do it for them.’
Eddie cocked his head to the side, then his eyes widened. ‘Do what? Nadia —’
‘Be her surrogate. Have a baby for her.’ Nadia’s mouth was dry. She had said it, and even to her own ears, it sounded outrageous.
Eddie opened his mouth but said nothing.
She hurried on. ‘I’ve thought it all through, Eddie. I just have to carry the pregnancy, the baby, then we’ll get back to normal. The pregnancy is the easy part, isn’t it? It’s the newborn stage that’s hard, and that won’t be something we have to deal with. It’s just like babysitting, really – I’m just letting the baby grow in me, that’s all. I promise it won’t affect us.’ She made herself stop, then watched him, her eyes wide, waiting for a reply.
He sighed; as he exhaled, his chin dropped to his chest as if he was deflating. ‘Nadia … I don’t know where to start. It’s not that simple. My God, it would be so much more complicated … Think about the effect it’d have on you!’
‘I’d be fine.’
‘Being pregnant again? You hated being pregnant!’
‘No I didn’t! I loved it, I loved every moment of it.’
‘No, you were exhausted all the time, sick for months. We’ve got three other kids to look after now …’
‘Well, you can help, and I’m certain Zoe and Rosemary would babysit all the time if I did this! Is that what this is about? How it will affect you? That you’ll have to help out more, be here in the evenings and spend time with me and the kids?’ Nadia’s eyes filled with angry tears.
‘Of course it’s not, but we’re just starting to get our lives back to normal – you’ve been saying that too! The girls are at school, Harry’ll be at kindy next year, and then you’ll have some time back for yourself, to start working again, we can go on holidays …’
‘Don’t be so selfish! Who cares about going on holidays? Anyway, who says I want to go back to work?’ Nadia grasped his hands, pleading with him. ‘It just doesn’t seem … important to me any more. I’m better at this, Eddie, at being a mum – surely that’s more important than working! I can do this for Zoe, it’s an amazing thing! Yes, things are getting easier now with our kids getting older, but Zoe can never have that! Never. Not unless I do this. Think about our life, about the kids, and how gorgeous they are, how funny, how amazing. There’s plenty of time to go on holiday, but not for having children. This is her only chance.’
‘Nadia,’ he said patiently, still holding her hands. ‘I think you’re amazing for even thinking about it, I really do. But you’re almost forty, we’ve got three kids of our own, and I just don’t think it’s as easy as you make it sound. Aren’t there risks? Could you really give birth to a child, then hand it over? What about the children, how would we explain it to them?’ He swallowed, then spoke softly. ‘Nadia, this isn’t your responsibility. You don’t have to be the one to try and fix Zoe’s life. They can adopt, or foster, or use someone from India or wherever. You don’t have to do this.’
‘I do, Eddie.’
Nadia thought back to what Rosemary had said, that she would do it for Zoe in a heartbeat if she could. Eddie was wrong: this was her responsibility.
‘Don’t push Harry so high, Charlotte!’ Nadia shouted across the playground. Charlotte turned to look at her, laughing, her dark, defiant eyes flashing. The same eyes as her father. Nadia smiled and shook her head, then turned to Eddie, sitting next to her at the wooden picnic table. Charlotte went back to pushing the swing. Harry was laughing and holding his head back so the wind flew through his fair hair.
‘Who do you think she gets that from?’ Nadia asked.
Eddie smiled. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. I was a good child.’ He put his arm around her shoulders and squeezed. ‘You OK? You didn’t sleep well.’
She rubbed her eyes. ‘I’ve got a lot on my mind.’
He nodded, but Nadia knew he wasn’t going to bring it up again if she didn’t. After their discussion last night, they had both retreated into their thoughts. Eddie had agreed to think about it; Nadia had thought she had made her decision, but hearing Eddie voice the fears she’d been pushing away had confused her. She could counter every argument he put up, but she knew his concerns were legitimate.
Last night, while Eddie had slept deeply next to her, Nadia had lain awake. After about an hour, she had got up and tiptoed into the children’s rooms to watch them sleeping. She had thought again of Zoe, sleeping restlessly alone at home, with her husband away and no child to keep her company.
Now Nadia sipped at her takeaway cup. ‘Where’s Violet?’
Eddie pointed towards the climbing frame. ‘There.’
Nadia nodded as she watched Violet clamber up a ladder in her bare feet. Always the quiet one, off by herself. Such a serious little thing. As Nadia herself had been. She must spend more time with her. It was so easy to leave Violet alone to read or draw or dress her dolls, so easy to forget to ask if she was OK. Nadia looked down at her sandy toes peeping out of her tan leather sandals. ‘Do you remember when Harry was born?’
Eddie turned towards her on the bench. ‘Of course.’
‘Do you remember how relieved we were to have three kids, all healthy? I remember turning to you and smiling and just sort of knowing that we were done. Our family was complete.’
‘Yeah, of course. And not just them – my relief was about you too. You were healthy, safe. When each of the kids was born, I used to have this fear at seeing you there on the hospital bed, with all the monitors, in such pain. In case you didn’t make it.’
Nadia thought about her mother. Hilary never got the chance to see her baby, Nadia, grow into a toddler, a teenager, an adult; to watch her sleep, to push her on the swing. She wished she could remember her. Sometimes she thought she did, but she was only an infant when Hilary had died, so she knew it was her mind trying to fulfil her wish, integrating photos she had seen with stories she’d heard. But though she knew it was impossible to remember her mother physically – her face, her voice, her touch – she also knew that memories weren’t always visceral. They could be implicit, formed from intense experiences – like the fierce love of a mother – and held in the cells of our deepest brain structures. Nadia knew that Hilary was merged with her, the good and the bad – and it must have been bad, near the end. No matter how much love there was in that hospital room, there must also have been terror, a wrenching sorrow and regret. Nadia glanced at Eddie. How would he have coped with a little baby if Nadia had died like her mother had? Her eyes filled with tears at the thought of her father as a young man, left alone with only grief and an infant daughter.
Eddie put his hand on hers, drawing her back to him. ‘You’ve forgotten how hard it was on you.’
‘It wasn’t that hard.’
‘I just don’t think you’ve thought this through.’
Nadia shook her head. ‘You’re wrong. I have thought it through. She’s my sister, Eddie. What if it was us?’ She raised her hand with the coffee cup towards the children. ‘Can you imagine life without them? Why shouldn’t Zoe get a chance to be a mum too?’
‘Of course I can’t imagine being without them.’
‘Where would we be without them?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, do you think we’d still be a couple?’ To her frustration, Nadia heard her voice waver, and her eyes began to water.
‘What?’ Eddie frowned. ‘Of course we would.’
‘What keeps people together, Eddie?’
He cocked his head to the side. ‘What are you talking about? Are Zoe and Lachlan in trouble? If so, that’s even more reason not to go through with this —’
Zoe grimaced. ‘No. Never mind. I just mean that kids are what makes a family, you know. And she’s my sister, I just want her to have the same thing I do.’
Eddie stretched out his legs in the sun, splaying his toes. ‘But maybe the fact that you’re her sister makes it even harder. Wouldn’t it be easier if she used a stranger, someone from overseas? That’s what usually happens, isn’t it?’
‘She can’t afford it – it costs a fortune. Zoe isn’t some movie star who’s left it too late to have kids. It’s different. She deserves a child – not that those other people don’t, but … Anyway, even if she did have the money, how can that be better than using me? We’re not talking about a business transaction. This is a child. I hate the thought of her having to pay to rent someone’s body part. How can that be good for the baby, or her? If someone is only in it for the money, how desperate must they be? They wouldn’t have decent hygiene or nutrition if they have to resort to surrogacy to feed their own children!’
‘I don’t think it’s that bad, love.’
‘Well, who would carry a stranger’s child if they didn’t have to? What kind of motives would they have? It can only be about money. I don’t trust anyone who’d want to make a profit from this. I want to give her a child because I’m family, and because she’d do it for me.’
‘Would she?’
‘Of course she would.’ Nadia knew it was the truth.
Eddie rubbed his face. ‘She hasn’t got eggs, what —’
‘We’d use my eggs, I’d go to the clinic and be inseminated. It’s easier, cheaper, less invasive than donor eggs and IVF.’
‘But then the child would be yours! It’d look like you, like our kids! What if when you saw the baby, you —’
Nadia put up her hand to stop him. ‘I’ve told you, Eddie. I’m happy with three kids. I’m done, finished. It’d be her baby – and Lachlan’s, not mine. I would know that from the start. People donate eggs and sperm all the time and know that their genetic child is walking around out there, but they know it’s not theirs, not in an emotional way. I’d just carry it for her. I’d be the baby’s aunt, that’s all.’
Eddie lifted his coffee cup to his mouth and tipped it up. ‘You’re just telling yourself what you want to hear. What about me, seeing you pregnant with someone else’s baby?’
‘Oh, for God’s sake. It’s not like I’d have to have sex with Lachlan!’
‘Jesus, Nadia! The kids then, what would you tell them?’
‘The truth! I’m proud of this. It’s a good thing to do.’
Eddie gripped her hand and looked straight at her. ‘I know that. I don’t doubt that it’s a good thing to do. But I’m worried about you.’
‘Don’t you think I’m strong enough?’
Eddie raked his fingers through his hair, then leaned closer to her. ‘Nadia, it’s not that I don’t think you’re strong, it’s just that I know how much you love being a mum, and I know how much you loved the kids from the minute you were pregnant. This will be too hard for you …’
Nadia blinked back tears, and nodded. ‘It will be hard. I know that, Eddie. But it’s what I want to do. It’s just forty weeks of pregnancy, then it’s over. What’s a year out of our life? It’s nothing, it’ll go so quickly, but then Zoe will have a child forever.’
‘But it’s not just a year, is it?’
Nadia finished her coffee to give herself time to think. How would it feel to have a baby inside her again, kicking and prodding her? She would be sick, she would be tired, and of course she knew it would be difficult emotionally. But Zoe had been sick, still was, and she hadn’t asked for that. Even if they weren’t biologically related, Zoe was her little sister. Family bonds weren’t forged from blood, they were welded by shared moments, from intimacy, from vulnerability. She sniffed and took a deep breath. ‘Let’s go.’
Eddie sighed and picked up their empty cardboard cups. ‘Let me think about it, OK?’
Nadia nodded as she collected her bag and three pairs of kids’ shoes, then walked towards the swings. They could talk about it some more, but she knew what the right thing to do was. Some siblings gave each other a kidney, or their bone marrow; how was this any different?