Davis told me he knew he needed me the moment I flew out of Brisbane. He stayed with me two nights, and then was gone again.
We married eighteen months after that. I wanted a September wedding, but Davis said the following March was better. After all what was six months? I wanted something small and intimate. Davis wanted half the suburb there. He said it was good for business to have as many clients as possible.
However, my wedding day surpassed all that any girl could dream of: the romantic Vera Wang dress, the champagne toasts, the promise of time alone with Davis cruising the Maldives on our luxurious honeymoon. Although Davis was terribly handsome in his Hugo Boss tuxedo, I felt like the day didn’t belong to us alone.
I wanted children straight away but Davis said he wanted me to himself for a while longer. Three years after we were married, I finally put my foot down. I told him it was now or never. He agreed.
I wish my body had agreed. Somewhere along the line it forgot what it was meant to do.
*
Shaking my head, I was instantly jolted out of my reverie by the sound of a tiny voice. ‘But Mummy I want a baby chino.’ As if waking from a sleep, I blinked and glanced around the surrounding tables. Tables spilled out from the inside eating area under an awning onto the pavement, where customers, just like me, perched to watch the passing trade.
‘Emma sit up here and wait for Daddy to come,’ the blonde, blue eyed mother gently coaxed.
‘But Mummy…’ the little voice rose higher.
‘Emma,’ the mother’s voice was firm. ‘Daddy won’t be long. You can eat your sultanas while you wait.’ Snapping open the hot pink Tupperware container, she handed it to the little girl who was dark haired and appeared to be of Chinese decent. I wondered about the father.
Holding the coffee cup to my lips with both hands, I sipped slowly, watching.
A tall fair haired man, dressed smartly in business attire, crept up behind the tiny girl and then hoisted her into the air up onto his shoulders, among squeals of delight.
‘Come on Miss Em,’ he said. ‘Come inside and help me order coffee and treaties.’
I noticed the mother’s face as she watched her husband and child go into the deli, a child who I gathered was adopted. I wondered about it, the mother’s look was one of satisfaction. To have denied her the right to be a mother would have been criminal. And not for the first time, I pondered whether motherhood was a right or a gift. Suddenly I was reminded of my looming childlessness. Whenever it came upon me, like it did at that moment, it hit me in the pit of my stomach and I literally felt ill. I knew I was still in mourning. Not only mourning the person who I had thought was the love of my life, but also mourning the loss of my perfect dream, the expectation of becoming a mother soon, something I had been planning and dreaming of for years.
With some effort, I attempted to change my thoughts, knowing that thinking about my desire for children did me no good whatsoever. Emerald Green and I were still to work on that one. I had told her I was not ready. She had said soon. Soon was looming.
No amount of effort to re-direct my thoughts helped and I was reminded of those early days of finding out about Davis’s affair and the huge realisation that I was not headed towards motherhood. There were many nights where I lay in bed feeling pain that was bigger than my body. A huge circle of pain encompassing not just me but vibrating through the air around me as well. My crying scared me. It was instantaneous and loud. I could not contain the sound. I would get out of bed and roam around, trying new places to sleep, another bedroom, one of the lounges. And then I would sleep a little again, only to repeat the performance a short time later.
*
Two women parked their loaded trolleys in front of my table before they entered the delicatessen. Earlier, I had chosen a table right at the end, pushed up against the window. Although out of the way, it seemed perfect to people watch. The two trolleys appeared to be filled with display paraphernalia, creating a wall that couldn’t have hemmed me in any further if it was made from besser blocks.
I was miffed the two women had given me so little regard. Coughing, I attempted to attract their attention. However, as they were already inside joining the take away coffee queue, it did me no good whatsoever. Noisily, I slid my chair back, hoping the sound would show my plight. They did not even turn around.
To make it worse, while they waited for the coffees, the two women leant against the trolleys, and in voices that resembled fingernails on a chalkboard, loudly discussed the issues they had with a work colleague.
‘… and so I told her, if she didn’t friggin’ get real…’ came from the teased redheaded, her eyes rimmed in purple liner, lipstick in the corners of her mouth.
Not for the first time I had the feeling of being invisible. It hadn’t seemed all that long ago that I was a well-known business identity around town. And now…
I glanced around to see if anyone else thought my predicament odd. However, the problem was I could barely see anyone else. My desolation returned and hung off me like a heavy cloak.
For an instant, I wondered if I could be the type of person who would down an entire bottle of sleeping pills. However, as I was on my third cup of coffee that day, I realised there was a good possibility that I would struggle to close my eyes. Blast!
Resting my chin on my hand, I exhaled heavily and stared down at the bottom of my now empty cup, thoughts playing out in my mind, replaying scenes from the past.
*
The moment I heard her voice, I knew it was her. I had forgotten how charming Felicity Best could be.
The tall striking blonde sailed towards me. ‘Helloooo darling! How are you?’ she sang as she air-kissed my cheek. Four of the first five minutes of meeting after nearly fifteen years, we conducted that catch up dance in which you move from subject to subject, leaping great chasms of time, while still in shock over the unexpected meeting.
Her hair was swept up in a platinum blonde Marilyn Monroe do, and her smile was pure Hollywood. A cloud of expensive perfume wafted around her. Even at that hour of the morning, she was wearing a blazing sapphire blue silk dress that rippled as she moved. I could tell that she was aware she had attracted nearly every pair of male eyes within cooee distance.
Images flashed into my mind of Felicity Best at school; on the netball court with her long tanned legs; sitting in the middle of a group of gobsmacked girls while she handed out snippets of her glamorous weekends. She was the queen. God, we all loved her. God, we were envious.
And even after all this time, and my own success, I felt that same feeling of inadequacy come upon me again, as I stood there in my leggings and singlet top, waiting in line for a vegetable juice at some ungodly hour of the morning. Davis was away speaking at a conference, and rather than wash that bloody juicer yet again, I had stopped off after a session with my personal trainer to buy one.
Who was I kidding? The morning hadn’t begun well and I was going straight for an iced chocolate mocha – a mixture of eighty percent pure chocolate, vanilla ice cream, espresso coffee and chocolate shavings. The mood I was in, if I could have taken it intravenously, I would have.
Twenty minutes earlier, my period had reared its ugly head once again. Another month had passed with no luck. I could not explain my complete disappointment and frustration. I held myself together at the trainers, and waited until I got in the car. Down the road, I pulled over, rested my head on the steering wheel and cried. I was feeling less of a woman every month and I cursed myself that we had waited so long.
The emotional journey was absolutely exhausting.
By the time I arrived at the juice bar in the James Street markets, I knew I wasn’t a pretty sight. Actually, I didn’t