‘I do my best, Geoff, love,’ her mother had said, waving the skeletal hand with the cigarette in it, not noticing ash landing on the wooden verandah floor. The floor was used to it.
‘You’ve certainly done your best with your darling daughter, who, I can now say, has agreed to be my wife.’
Dianne had beamed, taken Geoff’s hand and watched him take her mother’s free one.
She should have run.
But she didn’t.
She couldn’t forgive herself for not knowing better. Because how could anybody have been that stupid?
Losing the baby made everything worse. Geoff blamed her for it and she, already broken, began to blame herself too.
When she finally gave birth to Lauren, she suffered from what she knows now was post-natal depression. But it was a long time ago and no cavalry came to help her.
The garden and verandah of Geoff and Dianne’s house is thronged with the couple’s friends and family.
There is Geoff’s sister, Sal, from Perth, who’s flown over with her three kids, now tearing around the garden playing loud games of tag with the other small children brought to the Wilkins’ house. Sal is nose to nose with Dianne’s mother, Tina, who is wearing her Sunday best in honour of the church service.
This means a white hat with a violet feather, her pale-purple skirt suit and high-heeled shoes that are now plugged into the hopeless lawn at the back of the house. The outfit is accessorised with two packets of ciggies, and a swipe of Revlon’s Foxy Brown lipstick that Tina reapplies after every smoke.
Dianne can relax because both her mother and husband are happy. Geoff has given up his position in front of the barbie to his best friend, Ralph, and is now leaning against the pale-green verandah that Dianne had slowly painted while she was pregnant. He has a beer in one hand and beneath him is a plastic container filled with ice and bottles of beer.
Dianne is pleased that everyone is there to help them celebrate but she is so tired. The first six weeks of a baby are supposed to be the hardest but Lauren is four months now, and she still sleeps only in two-hour segments, leaving Dianne exhausted and on the verge of insanity. She still dreams of the other baby, the one who died. The one with the perfect little face who never breathed a breath.
‘You’re coddling that baby,’ her mother says. ‘Babies need to know who’s in charge.’
Dianne isn’t sure how babies find out they are not in charge. The only option would be to leave Lauren to cry herself sick.
‘Here she is, the best baby in the world!’ Geoff holds out his arms to Dianne to take Lauren, clad in her fluffy white christening robe.
Dianne smiles weakly as she hands the baby over. Lauren is the best baby in the world but she hates being passed from person to person. Her little face is red and Dianne knows she is ready to roar. But she can do nothing.
Geoff wants the world to look at his new child, proof that he is fertile, very male, after the tragedy of the first one, the one he never speaks about.
Tina comes over, ciggie still in the corner of her mouth.
‘Come to your nana,’ Tina says.
Geoff hands her over, Lauren stiffens, arches her back and begins to scream.
Her child’s scream is like a dog whistle for Dianne, one only she is programmed to react to. It hits her ears, goes straight into her central nervous system, and her adrenaline spikes.
‘Little pet needs her daddy,’ says Geoff, all charm and smiles for the audience.
In his arms, Lauren screams even more.
Someone laughs. ‘Give her a beer, Geoff, then she’ll be happy!’
‘Shut up, Mac,’ hisses a woman. ‘She’s a baby.’
Dianne moves closer to her husband, mask fully on.
‘I think she’s hungry, darling,’ she says loudly. ‘You know what they’re like when they’re hungry.’
Geoff’s eyes are like flint as he hands the baby over.
‘He made me suffer for that,’ she says flatly to Rose. ‘The baby had shown him up in public. I had shown him up. I got no grocery money for a week afterwards. I had to usecloth nappies and, I can tell you, those things are a bitch to clean. He complained about the smell, too.’
