Lessons From Ducks (15 page)

“I would expect nothing less.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway, because nothing’s going to happen.” And then he nibbled her ear in a way that he knew turned her on and they made love with a passion that only talking about death can provoke.

But he was wrong and something did happen. Only it was her that was left behind, not him. And she understood then what he had meant at the river because when she looked upon their peaceful faces she wanted to die too. If it wasn’t for the fact her heart kept inconveniently beating she would have joined them.

“Anna?”

She blinked. Three concerned faces were looking at her from around the table. “What?”

“We were just talking about your gardens. Matt was saying they’re the nicest in town.” Barbara preened, taking the compliment personally.

“You’ve seen them all have you?” Anna asked.

“What?”

“The gardens around town. Seen them all have you?”

Matt looked taken aback. “Well no, not all.”

“Then you shouldn’t go around making broad statements like that.”

“I’m sorry, are you angry because I said you had amazing gardens?” Matt looked to Barbara for support.

“Of course she’s not angry,” Barbara soothed. “Anna doesn’t really do anger, she’s much too sweet for that, isn’t she Frank?”

“Eh? Oh yes, a real gem, our Anna.”

Anna clenched her mouth shut. She wanted to tell them she wasn’t ‘their’ Anna anymore; that they didn’t need to keep making an effort with her. She didn’t care if they let her fade from their lives. No more emails, she wanted to say. No more visits.

But they were right about one thing; she
was
sweet, so she didn’t say any of those things.

“Thank you Frank,” she murmured instead, eyes on the napkin in front of her.

“Anna is a talented crafter as well as gardener, aren’t you Anna,” Barbara said.

Anna frowned. Crafter? What on earth was she on about? Did she mean the driftwood wind chimes Anna had made once? The ones that fell apart in the first strong breeze?

“And she’s a dab hand at a Sunday roast too, gets the potatoes perfect every time,” Frank added.

“Oh yes, the potatoes. And what about her lemon meringue pie Frank, you’re always nagging at me to make one as nice as Anna’s.”

“Unfortunately something you haven’t managed yet though, haha,” Frank guffawed. Barbara laughed shrilly.

Anna stared at them. She had never seen them act like this before.

“And swimming, Anna’s a wonderful swimmer.”

“Yes I’ve seen Anna swim,” Matt said.

“Oh,” Barbara smiled suggestively, “you have? Where?”

“In the river.”

“How nice.”

“Stop it,” said Anna.

“Between you and me,” Barbara carried on in a loud whisper. “Don’t you think she has a lovely figure? I wish I had one half as nice.”

Anna’s mouth dropped open.

Matt was also lost for words.”Um.”

“Stop,” Anna shouted, banging both hands on the table. The cutlery jumped and so did Frank.

“Stop what?”

What the hell do you think?”

Barbara frowned. “Don’t be crude.”

“
Me
crude? You’re the one talking about my figure with a man we hardly know.”

“But that’s the point of this dinner, isn’t it. To get to know each other better.”

Anna took a deep breath and counted to ten before she said something she might regret. Then she took her napkin off her lap and put it back on the table, rising to her feet.

“Matt,” she said, “I apologise for the less than subtle attempts to set us up.”

“I’m not bothered,” he shrugged. “Not often I get out for a nice meal.”

“Well I
am
bothered. It’s both patronising and unwanted.”

“Sit down Anna, you’re making a fuss.”

“No. Enjoy your meal, but this is where I say goodnight.” Anna pushed out her chair and picked up her purse.

“Don’t be silly, how will you get home?”

“A taxi will do the job.”

“Frank, do something.”

“Stay,” Frank implored, “eat with us and then I’ll take you home.”

“No thank you, I have no appetite.” Anna looked directly at Barbara. “Listen carefully because this is the last time I will tell you this; stay out of my personal life. You may have accepted what happened but I haven’t. Accept that I need to deal with things in my own way or
leave me alone
.”

Then she swivelled on her heel and left, blinking back tears before she even got to the door.

Chapter nineteen

The next morning very little progress had been made by the egg and, fearing the poor duckling inside was weakening, Anna decided to throw Dr Google’s advice to the wind – after all, man interfered in the birth of babies all the time, – and offer her assistance as a midwife. Gently, very,
very
gently, Anna peeled off the part of the shell that was attached by only a thin layer of membrane. It revealed a mass of tiny matted yellow feathers, which was a surprise to Anna as her ducks were white, and she’d assumed the duckling would be the same.

The small part of the duckling she had revealed was unrecognisable and even tilting her head both ways she couldn’t figure out if what she was looking at was head or tail. Seeing the tiny feathers and glimpses of pale beige skin beneath made the whole thing become very real though, and the reality that this little things life was now in her hands, literally, nearly gave Anna cold feet and for a moment she considered calling the local animal shelter and asking them to take over parenting duties. Then she saw the duckling move slightly, and her mothering instincts kicked in.

“Hang in there little buddy,” she said. “Help is on hand.”

She gently peeled off another small piece of shell and revealed what was unmistakably a very small beak.

“How gorgeous,” she said. The tiny glimpse of light she had unleashed into the shell, this tantalising glimpse into the outside world, gave the duckling a fresh burst of energy and as she watched the egg cracked some more, and then with a particularly large shove from within out popped a wing. Wriggle, squirm, wriggle, kick and plop, out fell the rest of the duckling. Exhausted it rested where it fell, feet curled up against its chest, a small dark eye solemnly taking in its new surroundings.

Anna felt a surge of protectiveness towards the vulnerable little duck. She pulled the adjustable lamp down lower so the duck would feel the full warmth from its bulb and she adjusted the sides of the box so that no draft could get in. Then she watched. After a few minutes she could see that the feathers were drying out, and a few minutes more the duckling transformed into a fluffy yellow ball of cuteness, and Anna was in love.

She spent the rest of the day watching him find his feet – awkwardly and with more than a few trips over his own large webbed feet – and helping it find the water bowl and the food she had placed out for it. She stroked its downy feathers and it observed her with a slight questioning look, as if it were trying to figure out how this giant, odd looking creature fitted into the picture.

The next day, which happened to be Friday, Anna called in sick again. Although she tried to motivate herself to do some gardening and housework, she found herself instead hurrying back to the box under the heat lamp every five minutes to make sure the duckling was doing ok.

It reminded her of when her son was born. He had been a good sleeper, right from the start. Other mothers from her parents class would rock up to their coffee mornings looking exhausted, smelling of sour milk and wearing odd socks, and they would mainline the coffee as they regaled tales of sleepless nights pacing hallways with wailing babies flung over shoulders, matchsticks propping up eyelids and husbands snoring peacefully though it all. Anna always felt left out, and if they asked her how she was going she would roll her eyes and pretend she was in the same boat as the rest of them. But she wasn’t. Her son slept so beautifully that in the beginning she had to wake
him
in order to make sure he was getting enough milk. He grew like a text book baby, following the little dotted growth line on the plunket charts perfectly, and Anna stopped going to the coffee mornings because she felt guilty that all the other mums appeared to be struggling while she seemed to have everything so easy.  But even though her journey into motherhood came naturally and she was blessed with such a good natured child, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that everything was just a little
too
easy. It wasn’t supposed to be so effortless. The uneasiness would wake her from deep sleep, and she would lay there, heart racing, trying to convince herself that everything was ok before the anxiety got the better of her and she would rush soundlessly to the nursery to check on her baby. He was always fine; sleeping peacefully with a smile curling his lips and the soft sound of his breath the only disturbance in the night. Anna would hover above his cot and watch him while her heart returned to its normal beat and the unease would recede, but it never went away completely.

After they died, she felt it was punishment of some sort. For having had it so easy. Those coffee group mothers came along to the funeral and as they clutched her cold hand and expressed their sympathy she could read the relief in their eyes that this had happened to her and not them. Then they squeezed their babies a little tighter and went home to the noise and the chaos and for a time they were grateful for those night wakings, until the memory wore off and the sleep deprivation hit again and they forgot the life lesson they had just been shown.

The duckling brought all those early feelings flooding back to Anna, and the pressure of being responsible for his wellbeing kept her up the first two nights, dozing fretfully in the armchair beside his box, waking frequently to check he was still breathing. The worst moment was right in between waking and checking; for those seconds she could barely breathe as she panicked that the worst might have happened, and she would have to summon up the courage to make herself look. And every time she did and she could see the little chest rising and falling as the duckling slept peacefully, she would sigh with relief and subside back into the chair and think, ‘I can’t do this,’ and she would vow to take him to the animal shelter the very next morning so that someone else could bear the burden of responsibility for keeping him alive.

But she never did.

In the afternoon she was upstairs changing the sheets on her bed when she heard a car door slam in the street outside. Hugging the curtains to remain unseen she had a look and swore under her breath when she saw the familiar silver Toyota parked outside. Frank and Barbara. Only Frank was making his way up the garden path though. She thought about ignoring the doorbell, staying in her hiding place until he gave up and left again, but curiosity got the better of her.

“Anna,” he said sorrowfully when she opened the door, sweeping her up into a rib crushing bear hug. “Will you forgive an old man and his wife for their silly but well meaning behaviour?”

Anna sighed. She couldn’t stay angry with them. But nor was she going to let them think she condoned their behaviour either. She frowned at him sternly. “Well meaning it may have been Frank, but it was embarrassing.”

He hung his head. “I know. I really am very sorry. So is Barbara.”

“Where is she?”

He stepped to one side and gestured towards the car. Barbara was sitting in the front passenger seat, her face mournful. She gave Anna a small wave when she saw them look her way.

“Why isn’t she getting out of the car?”

“She wasn’t sure you’d be happy to see her.”

Anna suppressed an eye roll. Looked like she’d have to be the bigger person. She marched up the path and tapped on the car window. Barbara pushed the button to make it go down.

“Hello Anna,” she said in a small voice.

“Are you going to come in for a coffee? Because if you’re expecting me to bring it out here I’m afraid you’ll be in for quite a wait.”

Barbara smiled at Anna, grateful for the olive branch extension. “Coffee sounds great.” She got out of the car and pulled Anna into a hug. “I’m sorry,” she said, a little tearfully. “I only meant well.”

“I know that. But I hope it’s the last time you try anything like that, because next time I might not be so forgiving.”

“Cross my heart,” Barbara made the gesture.

“Good. Now it’s forgotten.”

They sat and drank coffee and talked about a raft of things that had nothing to do with Matt or the night before, and then she waved them off, grateful to have seen them but pleased they were gone and things could once again return to her own version of normalcy.

By mid morning Sunday an unfeasible heat for this point in the summer kicked in and Anna and the duckling, who she was convinced was a male because of the fact that every time he took a dump he completely missed the newspaper that was his target, were too overcome by the heat to do anything but collapse in the lounge, grateful for the cool relief it offered them. She had that uncomfortable ‘last day off before work’ feeling, a black cloud of dread that curled around her intestines and pinched her kidneys. She stewed on how much she’d enjoyed the last few days, the peace and quiet and lack of intolerable people to screw up her day. And then she thought, ‘what’s to stop me taking more time?’ In fact, after rummaging in the drawer and opening her payslip she discovered she had thirty two point six days of annual leave up her sleeve. How they arrived at the point six she wasn’t sure. She called Mr Hedley at home and apologised for the short notice but told him that something had ‘come up’ and she needed to take some time off; ten point six days to be exact. Anna figured this gave her another fortnight to enjoy and then when she did have to go back she’d start at morning tea time, which ought to take care of the point six.

“Of course Anna,” he said, “no problem at all. Anything I can do to help?”

She felt slightly guilty about letting him think something was wrong, but then she looked at the duckling she had nicknamed Buddy and the blue sky outside and her conscience shrugged the guilt off. “No Sir, but thank you.”

After the phone call the black cloud dissipated quickly and was replaced by boundless joy. She felt ten years old, on the cusp of summer school holidays. This was the first proper holiday Anna had taken in years. Not proper as in ‘going somewhere exotic where drinks come with tiny colourful umbrellas that poke your eye when you try and take a sip’, but proper as in time off work that wasn’t down to illness or bereavement. She felt giddy with the possibilities open to her, even though she knew she was unlikely to do any of them. It was enough to know that she
could
do them if she felt like it.

“Phew,” Anna said to Buddy, who had decided her stomach was the perfect place to curl up in a little ball and rest, “I don’t know about you but I certainly don’t remember a hotter summer than this.”

CHEEP CHEEP. Buddy couldn’t either.

She watched as his little head, weighed down by the incongruously large beak, drooped against his chest while he slept. It was crazy how quickly he was growing. In a matter of days he’d almost doubled in size, and if the quantity of food he demanded was any indication, it wouldn’t be long before he’d be as big as the ducks outside. This made her sad. She was enjoying having company in the house again, despite the little droppings he left everywhere
but
on the newspaper she’d laid out specifically for the purpose. His little face was impossible to scold though, yellow and fluffy and adorable as it was.

Her own chin had just headed south towards her own chest when the doorbell gave a shrill rang and jolted her awake. Buddy popped his head up and eyed her crossly.

“Don’t look at me like that, I haven’t invited anyone.”

‘CHEEP’

“I’ll get it shall I?”

‘CHEEP’

She scooped him up and placed him on an armchair where he shook his feathers a few times and settled down again.

Anna knew her own expression was slightly cross when she opened the door, and she didn’t care. The door had seen more bloody visitors in the last week than it had seen in the whole year previously, and she wasn’t exactly thrilled about it.

“Oh,” she said. “I’d forgotten about you.”

“The words every man wants to hear,” Matt said, “Good morning to you too.”

Why was he always so cheerful? Was he on something? It had to be against some natural law to always be happy. Anna was about to point this out when she noticed the small figure at his side.

“Hey Oscar,” she said.

‘Hi Anna, can I go see the ducks?”

“Straight to the point of our visit sorry,” Matt laughed. “Not big on small talk, old Oscar here.”

“Ah yes, about the ducks. I’m afraid I have some good news, and some terribly bad news.”

Anna ushered them inside and waited till Oscar was seated on the couch to tell him about what happened to Mrs Dudley. As she told him she watched his face sadden, and his eyes glistened with tears he was determined not to cry.

“Stupid dog,” he said angrily, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand.

“I’m only guessing it was a dog. Actually it could have been any number of predators.”

“Well whatever it was it sucks.”

“No arguments there.”

Matt sighed heavily. It was never nice seeing your child upset, but he was a big believer that you couldn’t hide them from the realities of life, both good and bad. It seemed Anna had the same idea. He remembered what she’d said at the door.

“What’s the good news?”

“The good? Oh yes, I’d like you to meet someone.” Anna turned to the chair where she’d left Buddy. He wasn’t there.

“Now where did he go?” she muttered. “Ok, everybody freeze. Don’t make any sudden movements.” She got down on her hands and knees and checked under the couch.