The bride had wanted a small wedding. Her mother was absent, but that didn’t seem to bother Ella, or the fact that she had no other relatives or friends present. And if she was troubled in any way, it did not show. She wore a navy blue maternity suit, and carried a bouquet of daffodils that Astrid had put together at the last minute.
The ceremony had been held in the church, much to Helen’s delight, Astrid’s tacit approval and Hendel’s immense satisfaction. And from the church they had walked to Astrid’s kitchen where, at her insistence, the reception was held.
Gabriel was best man and Penny was the sole bridesmaid.
Despite the shift in circumstance, Arnold could not have been happier. His eyes constantly strayed to Ella’s stomach. A bellyful of baby waiting to come out into the world, he thought as he grabbed a plate and piled it high with food from the kitchen table. But when he offered Ella the plate, her lips gave a twitch of discontent, and she carefully selected a wedge of watermelon from the pile. ‘I’m only having one baby, not a clan.’
Arnold was anxious about the welfare of his grandchild; it would be born starving. He said as much to Vivian who replied, ‘You’ve got to trust her. She’s a dentist who knows all about nutrition. Look, she’s worried about putting on weight.’
Arnold opened his mouth to argue further but Vivian cut him short. ‘It’s our wedding day, for Christ’s sake. How about you go and take some more photos.’
Helen, watching Ella, saw a verbal express, stopping for no one who got in her way. She wondered what it was that gave such velocity to her words. Why did she talk so much? Was she nervous? Curiously, Ella said nothing of her pregnancy and impending motherhood.
Helen had to concede that Vivian appeared happy.
Vivian, watching his new wife’s every move, hearing her every word, looked stunned at his good fortune in having this beautiful, intelligent, articulate woman, pregnant with his child.
Helen fretted. Would this marriage last? Or give way as her marriage had? She hoped it would survive. Early in her marriage to Arnold, when it still had a feel, a look, smell of being new, she had thought their match was good. She felt she and Arnold made two bookends. Two rock solid bookends holding three books between them. Three lives. Two written. One blank.
*
That night, when Arnold arrived home after the wedding, he ambled from one vacant room to another in a reflective state. The rooms evoked images of a newly married couple with a young baby moving awkwardly in their first home together. He and Helen and Leif had once occupied this space.
The house was spotless. He wandered into the kitchen, flicked on the light and stared at the humble kitchen table. Memories flowed: Helen washing Leif in a baby tub on this table; a young family eating meals around this table; Gabriel standing on this table as a toddler and jumping onto his father’s back for a ride around the house; Vivian sitting reading under this table.
He made his way to the lounge where he sat on the sofa, holding his camera, happy in the knowledge that he now possessed evidence of having a family.
*
Once the wedding party had scattered and the business of cleaning up had begun, Astrid took the opportunity to face Hendel. The truth was, she was scared of the foreigner her husband had become. Astrid’s confession came in bits and pieces. She drew it out from deep within, in short bursts, until there was nothing left.
And Hendel took each portion as if being fed poison. He moved around the lounge room picking up glasses and plates, his face going from white to grey before he dropped into one of the empty chairs and shut his eyes, the joy of the wedding day crushed from him.
Astrid told of the years and the money spent at the casino, though omitted her big win, and her gift to Helen.
He knew the burden of guilt was his. He had failed to give Astrid a child in the earlier years of their marriage, worse still he had refused to seek medical help. Through stubborn pride and a blind faith in God’s will he had put his marriage on a perilous course.
He knew as he sat in his lounge room with the coolness of night descending that his marriage was truly over. He didn’t even attempt to argue with Astrid; he was too weary from years of wedded loneliness. He hung his head as Astrid completed her account. Finally she pulled short. ‘Well?’
Hendel raised his head. ‘Well? There’s nothing for me to say.’
‘You don’t care?’
Hendel pushed himself from out of his seat and stood facing his wife. ‘I’ll put the house on the market in the morning. Time we went our separate ways. I’m going to the church, just to make sure everything is locked up.’
Astrid knew the church was already locked up. She understood Hendel wanted to escape, to hide from her, to nurse their collective failure. She stood zombie-like at her kitchen sink, washing dishes, drying dishes, and putting them away. It filled her with sadness to think that their marriage had become nothing more than a shackle, endless days of silent animosity.
Why had she let it run for so long? Because, she thought, that’s how it goes. When the familiarity of conflict is all you have, you stay, you just do. You wear discontentment because it has become comfortable. Until, if you’re fortunate enough, it simply falls away, like rotten fruit off a tree.