Praise (16 page)

‘How'd it go?'

‘Six weeks pregnant,' she said. ‘I'm due in July.'

She got in, closed the door. We drove home.

We went to bed and fucked.

Then we lay there, smoking.

‘So what'll we do?' I said.

‘I don't know. They gave me the number of Children by Choice, if I want an abortion.'

Abortions, technically, were not available on demand in Queensland. The legislation was loose, though — if the mother was deemed to be in any physical or emotional danger from the baby, she could go ahead with a termination. I knew there was at least one abortion clinic in Brisbane, and another one down across the border in New South Wales.

‘What d'you think?' Cynthia asked.

‘I don't think I'd be any use to you with a kid.'

‘Would you leave me if I had the baby?'

‘I'm not sure. I'd try not to, but in the long run, I couldn't say. Look at my life, Cynthia. Where would a child fit in?'

She was silent for a while.

Then she said, ‘So I have to choose between you and the baby?'

‘I don't know. Do
you
want it?'

‘In some ways, yes I do.'

Silence.

I was thinking about a poem I'd written when I was fifteen. It was about abortion. I was against it then. I considered abortion to be murder. Legalised murder. And my opinion hadn't changed so much. I still thought that it was legalised murder. But now legalised murder didn't seem so bad. Self-defence was legalised murder. And an abortion seemed like self-defence for Cynthia and me, there in the bed. The baby was innocent, perhaps, but it could still be a killer.

Cynthia got up and went into the next room. I heard her pick up the phone, dial, talk, then hang up. She came back.

‘What was that?'

‘I called Children by Choice.'

She climbed back into bed. We lay side by side. Our hips and shoulders were touching.

‘If I have to choose,' she said, ‘I'll take you.'

On Christmas morning I gave Cynthia the books. She gave me a black shirt and three pairs of red underpants.

‘Cynthia, I can't wear these.'

‘But you'd look so cute. I hate those things you wear.'

All the underpants I owned were dark blue. I didn't bother with wearing them much anyway.

‘I like the shirt, but I am not going to wear these things.'

She sighed. ‘I'll wear them. You're no fun at all.'

‘Look, would you wear a garter belt and stockings if I bought them for you?'

‘Of course I would.'

‘Bullshit.'

‘You never
would
buy me garter belts and stockings.'

‘No, that's very true.'

She looked at me. ‘It would've been a nice kid, you know, between you and me. It would've had your skin.'

‘Somehow I think your genes would've dominated.'

‘It would've been nice, all the same.'

‘You can still have it, y'know.'

‘No. It's funny, though. I was so sure I'd be infertile. It's good to know I can at least have kids when I want them.'

We ate breakfast. Then I went off to be with the family. Cynthia went back to bed.

The family was gathering at the house of one of my brothers and his wife. Everyone was there. My parents, the ten original children, the six in-laws, the two prospective in-laws, and the sixteen grandchildren. Presents were exchanged. Unwrapped. Then it was into the champagne and beer. It was good. Everyone got along. We'd done pretty well to manage that, considering.

And then, after a long lunch, we removed ourselves to a nearby park to play cricket. Cricket was always a serious thing with the family. The teams went along hereditary lines. The ten Buchanan children formed a team called the Originals. The eight in-laws formed a team called the Outlaws. And the four grandchildren who were old enough to hold a bat formed a mercenary squad called the Byproducts. Three of them served with the Outlaws. The fourth partnered with the Originals to make up the eleven.

The Originals won the toss and elected to bowl. I wandered out to deep mid-off and found a tree to sit under. I had beer, and my pouch of tobacco. I sat down. I looked at the sun and waited.

‘Gordon, are you ready out there?'

‘I'm ready! I'm
keen
!'

Not that it mattered. Nothing came my way all afternoon. I bowled a few overs. Drank beer. Watched the wickets tumble. The Outlaws were all out for seventy-nine. Then it was our turn.

We started badly. By the time I fronted up we were four for twenty-seven. The light was in decline. My partner and I conferred mid-wicket. It was my younger brother Michael. Our last recognised batsman. He actually played club cricket occasionally, but only in the lower grades, and even then as a bowler. And not a very good bowler. Still, he was all we had left.

‘Farm the strike,' he told me.

I faced up. I was drunk. Everyone was. At least one of the milder in-laws was bowling. His first ball to me was gentle. I danced up. I swung. I missed. The keeper missed. The ball trickled away.

‘Run!' Michael screamed.

We swerved down the pitch. One of the slips fielded. Threw. Missed. The ball scooted away to the boundary. Four overthrows. Five runs. I picked up my beer from behind the stumps. Not so bad, I thought, for a number six.

We conferred mid-wicket.

Michael looked at me closely. ‘That was pathetic.'

‘I know.' I drank from my beer. ‘So now what?'

‘Okay. Here's the plan. We don't take singles. Just run when I tell you.'

‘That sounds fine.'

We returned to our respective ends.

Of the next thirty runs scored, I was responsible for four. Then Michael edged one to second slip and it was five for sixty-two. The next man in was Louise. The pathologist.

We conferred mid-wicket.

‘Farm the strike,' I told her.

We were all out for sixty-seven.

An hour later I called Cynthia.

‘I'm drunk,' I said. ‘Do you wanna get a cab over here?'

‘You said you wouldn't drink too much.'

‘But we played cricket.'

‘Okay. I understand. I'll be over.'

She was there not long afterwards. She had a couple of beers, played with some of the younger grandchildren, then looked at me.

‘We should go.'

‘Okay.'

On the way home she started crying.

‘What's wrong?'

‘You're so fucking lucky, having a family like that.'

‘I know. It can be a bit much sometimes, but still, I know.'

‘I wish I was in Darwin. I rang Mum and Dad before. They were having lunch with some friends. They were happy.'

‘I'm sorry. I really am.'

She drove in silence for a while.

Then she said, ‘Has anyone in your family had an abortion?'

‘I don't know. Someone might have. I wouldn't necessarily be told about it.'

‘Are you going to tell them about ours?'

‘No. What about you and your parents?'

‘Christ, no.'

We got home, cooked spaghetti for dinner, and watched TV.

Cynthia said, ‘I didn't get any sleep today. I started reading Auto
da Fe
and couldn't stop. He does terrible things to the reader.'

‘Wait until you get to the end.'

‘I don't think I want to. I've cried enough already.'

I couldn't stay awake. The day's drinking was catching up. I went to bed.

Cynthia came in some time later and woke me up. I looked at the clock. Three hours had gone by.

‘What've you been doing?'

‘Watching TV,' she said, ‘I've been watching the Christmas specials.'

We were lying in bed. It was late afternoon.

Cynthia had visited Children by Choice. The abortion was booked for the first working day after New Year's. The Tweed Heads Clinic. In the morning, ten thirty. We'd have to be on the road by nine to make it.

We were reading the leaflets CBC had given her. She would be having a general anaesthetic. It would be her first time.

‘What if I die?'

‘You won't die.'

‘But people do, all the time.'

‘You'll be okay ...'

‘And look, I can't eat the night before. I can't even smoke. How the fuck can I not smoke?'

‘It'll be bad, Cynthia, I understand that.'

‘And no sex for two weeks afterwards!'

‘You'll hardly feel like it, surely.'

She looked down at me.

‘Well,' I said.

I was lying with my head on her stomach. There was a foetus just inches away from my ear.

It's tough, I thought.

Cynthia was still looking down. ‘Oh God ... they're gonna scrape the poor little bastard out.'

She gripped my head and forced it down into her belly.

I was trying not to think about it.

The phone rang. Cynthia got it. ‘It's someone called Maree,' she told me.

I looked at her. She was holding the phone to her naked, pregnant belly. I got up and took it.

‘Maree?'

‘Hello, Gordon. How've you been?'

‘Good. Good. What's up?'

‘What're you doing for New Year's?'

‘Nothing yet. Why?'

‘We're having a party at the beachhouse, New Year's Eve, if you're interested. Cynthia too. Was that her who answered?'

‘That was her.'

‘I'd like to meet her. You can sleep over if you want. There's plenty of beds.'

‘You feel like a New Year's Eve party?' I said to Cynthia.

‘Whose?'

‘Maree and Frank's. Friends of mine. It's at the coast. Down at Broadbeach.'

‘That sounds okay.'

‘Okay,' I told Maree, ‘we'll be there.'

She gave me the details.

I climbed back into bed with Cynthia. ‘You sure you're okay to go to something like this?'

‘Yeah. I mean, what the fuck. It doesn't matter what I do, if I'm getting rid of it anyway.'

I nodded.

She said, ‘So who are Frank and Maree?'

‘I knew them at uni. Those two and Leo and Rachel and me, we all hung round together. I had a thing with Maree for a while. She was a lot older than the rest of us, about ten years older. I was very impressed. We slept together a few times. But then she was in love with Frank and Frank was a friend of mine ...'

‘It got complicated?'

‘It got complicated.'

New Year's Eve. We'd had trouble getting organised. By the time we left Brisbane it was already ten thirty. Leo and Molly were with us. Leo and I in the front, Molly and Cynthia in the back. There was a carton of beer back there as well, a four litre cask of wine, a bottle of bourbon, some Coca-Cola and four tabs of acid. It seemed like enough.

By the time we finally made it to the beachhouse it was twenty minutes to midnight. The first person I met walking in was Rachel. She was drunk.

‘Gordon!' she screamed. ‘Where've you been?'

‘Delayed.'

‘I'm drunk.'

‘I can tell.'

‘I'm so fucking drunk.'

‘How's the party going?'

‘Oh it's going just great.'

There were maybe forty or fifty people there. Some older, Maree's friends. Some younger, Frank's friends. We organised a place for our drinks. I found Frank and Maree and introduced them to Cynthia.

‘You're too late,' said Maree. The party is already dying.'

‘But it's not even midnight yet. And we've got acid.'

‘When are you going to take it?'

‘Soon.'

There was beer and bourbon in the meantime. I wandered out onto the verandah. The beach was there. The wind and the surf were up. There were bonfires here and there. Other parties.

Maree appeared at my side. She was swaying and staring at me.

‘So what've you been drinking?' I asked her.

She smiled. ‘Vodka.' She tossed her head. Laughed.

She was always dangerous on vodka.

Then it was midnight. People started counting down the last ten seconds. I didn't count or yell. I looked at Maree, she looked at me. ‘Happy New Year, Gordon,' she said. She leaned over and kissed me. ‘Come outside.'

I followed her out. I couldn't see Cynthia. Or Molly. Or Leo. Or Frank. Maree and I wandered down along the beach. We passed the fires, made it into the half-light. Maree lay down in the sand. I lay down beside her.

‘So how've you been, Gordon, really?'

‘Good. Really.'

‘You're still very special to me, y'know.'

‘You are to me too.'

I rolled on to my side and looked at her. She was looking back. Her body was outlined against the fires. I remembered her body. Her breasts. They were large and freckled, with two or three thick red hairs around the nipple. Mother's breasts. But things had changed. I felt much older. My heart wasn't there for Maree any more. I was thinking about Cynthia. I was thinking about Rachel. I wondered what they were doing. Who they were with.

Maree said, ‘What a year, what a fucking year.'

I didn't know what she meant.

‘How've
you
been?' I asked.

‘I think things might be over between Frank and me.'

‘Really? Why?'

‘I don't know. Maybe he's outgrown me. It was always going to be like that, I suppose.'

We lay there. The sounds of various parties drifted down.

‘You love Cynthia, don't you?'

‘I think so.'

‘What about Rachel?'

‘Indeed. What about Rachel?'

‘I think she's having second thoughts about you.'

‘That's the last thing I need to hear.'

After a while we got up and went back to the party. People were already going home or crashing in the bedrooms. Maree said she was going to bed. I'd forgotten my tobacco. I went out to the car to find it, and ran into Rachel. She was wandering up and down the street. She clung to me.