Broken (7 page)

‘Nothing much.' Mattie smiled, leaning against the wall and feeling a bit like a teenager as she absentmindedly coiled the telephone cord around one finger.

‘Wish I could say the same. Seems everybody's left their tax returns late this year. We're flat out.'

‘Poor you.'

‘Yes, poor me. What I need is a hot bath, a massage, and a bit of Mattie. Not necessarily in that order. Anyway, what's for tea?'

‘Tea?' repeated Mattie, the smile sliding off her face.

‘Yeah – tea. You know, the meal that comes after lunch.'

‘I . . . don't know'

‘That's not like you, Little Miss Organisation.'

‘No.' Mattie couldn't think of what else to say. She didn't know how, or when, Jake had got the impression he was coming around to the unit tonight. She'd actually planned on taking the children out to McDonald's after their swimming lesson, as a sort of celebration and the chance for a chat without distractions. But the last thing she wanted to do was get Jake offside, again, so it looked like she would have to rethink things.

‘I take it from the silence that you don't actually want me?'

‘It's not that,' said Mattie quickly. ‘Just that I hadn't . . . but of course you're welcome. You know that.'

‘No, I don't know that. I'm beginning to think I don't know anything. But tell me, what was last night about then?'

‘Last night?'

‘Yeah, last night. Remember? When you were all over me like a rash?'

‘A rash?'

‘Christ, Mattie, I always know you're playing games when you repeat everything I say. At least have the guts to tell me where I stand.'

Mattie pulled the corkscrewed cord off her finger, leaving red indentations that numbed her knuckles. ‘Look, last night I needed . . . I don't know. It's just that I – '

‘Want to pull the strings. That's it, isn't it? It's all about what
you
need, what
you
want. Which is everything your own way.'

‘No!' Mattie could hear the indignation in her voice, tinged with desperation.

‘Yes. You want me to be there when it suits you, and away when it
doesn't. And I'm expected to somehow magically know which is which. Well, life doesn't work that way, lady. You can't treat people like frigging puppets.'

‘Listen, Jake.' Mattie spoke quickly, the words tumbling over each other. ‘I'm
not
playing games. And I'm sorry if you . . . but how can I want everything my own way when I don't even know
what
I want? That's why I'm here – I'm
trying
to work it out!'

‘Well, you'd better bloody work it out soon, because I'm fed up.'

‘But you have to realise . . .' Mattie petered off as the engaged signal sounded in her ear. He'd hung up. She replaced the receiver gently and then massaged her knuckles until the blood flow throbbed painfully through her fingers. Then she washed her hands, took a deep breath and gathered together the Centrelink paperwork, aligning the edges neatly. One thing at a time and first things first. These needed to be signed and delivered, otherwise her twelve months were going to be over before they began. And, amongst everything she was confused about, one thing stood out in bold relief – if she went back now, she would never leave again.

‘Do you think Daddy's sad by himself?'

Mattie looked across the scrabble board at Courtney with surprise. Because the question came totally from left field. Neither child had even mentioned their father all afternoon and Mattie had gone to great pains to make sure they'd enjoyed themselves. Although she'd given the McDonald's idea a miss, just in case Jake
did
turn up, she kept the celebratory theme going with a picnic in the lounge-room. While the two children showered after swimming, Mattie laid out the Onkaparinga blanket across the carpet for them to sit around cross-legged for dinner. Crumbed chicken pieces, thick gravy, oven-fried chips and corn on the cob. They pretended they were outside, with flies landing on the food and the sun beating down so fiercely they had to shade their eyes. At one stage Mattie made out that she had swallowed a fly, gagging and clutching her throat and finally collapsing theatrically. Even Max laughed out loud.

Then, after the picnic was cleaned up, she brought out the Scrabble things and set them up on the coffee table. All three of them were dressed in winter flannelette pyjamas, with Mattie sitting on the couch, Courtney leaning against her mother's legs and Max stretched out across the beanbag on the floor. And, with a skill born of long practice, Mattie managed to compartmentalise everything unpleasant. Like this afternoon's altercation with Jake and, later, Hannah's tight, disapproving face as she signed her sister's Centrelink forms. So both became just the faintest of sour tastes that didn't prevent her from creating a lovely evening – cosy and relaxed and compensatory.

‘Well, Mummy? D'you think he is?' Courtney twisted herself around, tucking her still damp hair behind her ears as she regarded her mother quizzically.

‘No way' Mattie made herself smile. ‘In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he's having a lovely time enjoying the peace and quiet. It'll be like a little holiday.'

‘You think?'

‘Definitely.' Mattie glanced across at Max, who was rearranging his letters carefully. ‘Don't you agree, honey?'

‘About what?'

‘About your father. Don't you think he'll be enjoying the peace and quiet?'

‘S' pose.'

‘He
said
he'd miss us.' Courtney sounded unconvinced by her mother's argument. ‘He said the house was too big for just him.'

Max sat up in the beanbag, bringing his knees up and wrapping his arms around them as he looked at the other two. ‘Dad said the echoes would drive him nuts.'

‘If you didn't first,' added Courtney, glancing sidelong at her mother.

‘Me?' Mattie stared from one child to the other, astounded. ‘He actually said that? That I was driving him nuts?'

‘Yep.' Courtney regarded her mother attentively, watching for a reaction. ‘He said you're the reason his hair's all falling out. And that you made him cross.'

‘No he didn't.' Max looked at his sister impatiently. ‘He was only
joking about the hair. And he said she
was
his cross, not that she
made
him cross.'

‘His cross?' repeated Mattie, even more stunned. His
cross?

‘Like Jesus,' explained Max, digging his fingernails into his knees and examining the crescent-shaped moons left behind in the flannelette of his pyjamas.

Courtney frowned. ‘I don't get it.'

‘You don't have to,' Mattie snapped and then, as both children looked at her with surprise, took a few deep breaths. She reached forward and wrapped an arm around Courtney, giving her a brief squeeze. ‘Sorry, honey I didn't mean to take it out on you. It's just that . . . well, I'm surprised Daddy said that. And a bit hurt. Because, see – years ago, back when you were both really little, we made an agreement that we'd never criticise each other in front of you guys. That we'd be a team. And if we had something to say we'd say it to each other.'

‘Some team,' muttered Max as he stared down at his knees again.

‘And Daddy says you don't listen anyway,' interjected Courtney, playing with her mother's gold link bracelet.

‘God.' Mattie suddenly felt tired, very tired. And angry.

‘You know how you said before about Daddy being happy we're not there?' Courtney unclipped the bracelet while she spoke and laid it against her own skinny wrist, admiring the effect. ‘Well, does that mean
you're
happy when we're not here too? That you don't miss us?'

‘No!' Mattie shook her head emphatically. ‘I miss you
dreadfully!'

‘Are we gonna play or what?' Max unfolded himself and flopped back down in front of his Scrabble letters. ‘Whose turn?'

‘Courtney's,' replied Mattie distractedly, her head pounding. She couldn't believe that Jake had described her as a cross to bear. And that she drove him nuts. It was so totally unfair, and so counterproductive. Because it only confused the kids and made her justifiably furious. How could he talk one minute about wanting everything to work out, and then do something like that? It was incredibly hypocritical, and made no sense.

‘We're going to have special Friday nights every week.' Courtney linked two Scrabble tiles horizontally from another word to spell out
BIG. She smiled happily at the word before turning back to her mother. ‘Either Max or me gets to pick what takeaway we have and then that person gets to choose a movie too. It was Max's turn last week coz of being the oldest so it's my turn this week. I can't wait.'

‘Oh,' said Mattie rather faintly. She looked across at Max but he'd busied himself with his letters again.

‘And we're getting pocket money now too. I'm getting six dollars because I'm six and Max's getting eight.'

‘You're kidding.'

‘D'you write down my points, Max?' Courtney gestured at the pad lying on the floor by her brother, her mother's gold bracelet glinting on her wrist. ‘And it's your turn now'

Rather blankly, Mattie watched Max add up Courtney's score and jot it down before turning his attention to the Scrabble board. Back when Max started school, three years ago, Mattie suggested pocket money but had been vetoed by Jake. He felt that the object of pocket money was primarily to teach children the value of money and some degree of financial responsibility, and these were not lessons that could be fully appreciated under the age of ten. Mattie reluctantly agreed and the subject of pocket money had been put on hold. Or so she'd thought.

‘Are you angry about the money, Mum?'

Mattie looked across at Max quickly. ‘No, no. Of course not.'

‘You
looked
angry.'

‘Did I? Must have been something else. No . . . I suppose I wish your father'd discussed it with me first, that's all.'

‘I'm going to save up for a Baby Born doll,' announced Courtney, playing with the bracelet again. ‘Daddy said if I save half the money, he'd give me the other half.'

‘That's nice of him.'

‘Yes. And then I'll save up for the changing centre. It's got a seat and a bath and shelves and . . . hey, Mummy, what'll I do when I get it?' Courtney twisted around again to face her mother worriedly. ‘Like, where will it live? Here or at home?'

‘I'm sure we'll work it out. Be careful with my bracelet, please.'

‘And Dad said he'd get Max a puppy for his birthday.' Courtney frowned. ‘Which is totally unfair coz I want one too.'

Mattie stared at Courtney for a few moments while she tried to digest this, her head aching even more with the effort. Then she glanced across at Max but he avoided her gaze, instead laying down three tiles from Courtney's BIG to spell the word BOOT.

‘Well done.' Mattie blinked rapidly and tried to concentrate on her letters – P, O, Z, L, F – but it was difficult with so much new information demanding her attention. Takeaway food, movies, pocket money, a
puppy
– this was beginning to sound like some sort of competition in which Jake had already had several rolls of the dice. The P blurred into the smooth ivory of the scrabble tile as Mattie stared at it, and suddenly she realised that a competition was
exactly
what it was and, what's more, she should have foreseen it. Because she knew Jake, and she knew the way he operated. He was a chess player, quite capable of thinking many moves ahead and planning an approach accordingly And also fond of advocating the methodological skills required for chess as a lucrative way of approaching life's challenges. Attack is the best form of defence.

‘Mum, your turn,' said Max impatiently.

‘Just a second.' Mattie put down three letters to make the word FOOL. Which, she thought, was exactly what she'd be if she tried to compete with Jake – firstly, because she didn't have enough money to match his largesse, and secondly, because she was always going to be several steps behind, like now, simply because she didn't have the same talent for tactical thinking. Manipulation didn't come easily and even when she tried it, she usually ended up only making things harder for herself. Especially against Jake.

While Max tallied up her score and Courtney started arranging her letters, Mattie closed her eyes and massaged her temples lightly, trying to alleviate her headache. But all she could think of was that if Jake was going to start playing games, she was going to be at a distinct disadvantage. And if the children were going to be used as pawns, she was going to have to guard against being dragged into the competition. The trouble was, she was beginning to suspect that was going to prove next to impossible.

 

M
ax was born exactly two years after they moved into their own house. From the moment she discovered she was pregnant, Mattie read everything she could find about babies. It was like a compulsion, a thirst for knowledge that was rarely satiated. She discovered what to expect during labour, the importance of breastfeeding, the need for pelvic floor exercises. She learnt about jaundice, and nappy-rash, and how the fontanelle, that tiny stretched canvas of vulnerability, would depress if the baby was dehydrated
.

The only thing she didn't discover, because words couldn't describe it, was the feeling she would experience when the baby was placed on her belly. That minute scrap of humanity, with bloody streaks across a wrinkled, marbled body
.

It was contentment like nothing she had ever known. Almost spiritual in its intensity, with a liquid joy that ran through her veins, quickening her pulse and making her nerve-ends tremble. Touching the baby, stroking his damp hair and caressing his rounded belly filled her with awe. She laid a finger across his palm and his impossibly small fingers immediately wrapped themselves around it with a grip that spoke of dependence and responsibility. She smiled at him, delighted, and he gazed wetly up at her as if he, too, was struck by a sense of transcendental wonder. Of recognition
.