Moving On
I wonder in whose hands today
my old key sticks and jumps and may
just may, if jiggled the right way,
turn.
(c) Michelle Hyde 2004.
On Hanging On and Letting Go
Caroline picked at the cellophane swaddling the cigarette packet in her hand. Tapped the box against the table top. Dragged patterns in the debris of spilt coffee, milk and toast crumbs. Her drumming knees rhythmically bumped the underside of the aluminium café table until with a screech it suddenly lurched drunkenly, the table leg deficient in height skittering sideways as the wadded up paper jammed underneath it shot out across the floor.
“Shit” Caroline exclaimed, jumping to her feet and blowing spilt cigarette ash from her arms and lap.
“Shit, shit, bugger” she fumed and then, realising that she was the object of several interested glances, she ducked her head and nodded apologetically, murmuring “Sorry, sorry” in the direction of the raised heads. No one was much interested in the apology and Caroline subsided back into her seat and resumed her vigil.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Slide. Slide. Slide.
With an abrupt exclamation of impatience, she savagely ripped the covering from the packet, shook out a new cigarette, lit a match and dragged in a comforting chestful of warmth. The smoke curled into her lungs, soothing and calming, oozed into her guts and prickled at her bowels. Sighing, she dragged deeply again, slid back into the chair, then suddenly remembering Fergus, she blew the smoke skywards explosively, away from the stroller.
Fergus lay spreadeagled against a worn sheepskin, small mouth open, drying tears shining on his cheeks, overall expression of profound surprise at the sleep that had suddenly overtaken him in the midst of a prolonged crying jag. His blue singlet covered chest still periodically heaved in a hiccough of protest. He looked pathetically small and somewhat forgotten in the depths of the huge battered old pram. Caroline remembered how it had looked, brand new, bought for Rosie – was it really only six years ago? Then the stainless steel was lovingly polished, sticky finger marks wiped off immediately, fabric sprayed with stain protector. Now it was a lurching, unstable wreck of a thing, gaudily festooned with reminders of previous occupants; a chewed plastic chain, greying remnants of once colourful ribbons, half picked off stickers and other such trophies.
Caroline blew a cloud of smoke towards the pram in a sudden futile, guilty, misdirected gesture of anger and then, shamed, ground the cigarette into the overflowing ashtray and dripped the coffee grounds from her cup onto the still smoking mess. She thrust the cigarette packet deep into her bag, tore open a packet of mints and crammed a handful into her mouth. Sliding down in the chair she sighed, wiping sticky ash onto her already none too clean jeans.
Moments later she leapt up again with a grunt of exasperation and guiltily shoved the dirty ashtray away from her, onto the next table, with a quick half smile of apology towards the staff. They were oblivious to her, busily engaged in the various chopping, squashing, mixing and bumping into each other actions that comprised the preparation for the mid morning rush. It was too early yet for the skim latte set, fresh showered from sweaty liaisons with personal trainers, and the ‘flat white on the way to work’ crowd had long left, barking into mobile phones, trailing newspapers and bus tickets, shedding polystyrene cups and rubbing memories of warm beds from sleep swollen eyes. Caroline smiled wryly as she thought how the nothingness of this particular timeslot suited her now.
A waft of J’Adore floated into Caroline’s consciousness, and suddenly wary, she sat up straight.
“Hello gorgeous,” cooed Anna’s disembodied voice from behind Caroline, her slim twin set clad body bent over the pram as she stroked Fergus’s sturdy little tummy. Her neat suit, extravagant hair and air of elegance made a startling contrast to Caroline’s jeans and crumpled shirt.
“For God’s sake,” blurted Caroline “Don’t wake him – I’ve only just got the little bugger to sleep.”
“Caro, for goodness sake,” clucked Anna, tightening her mouth and frowning. The twin set suddenly looked too young for her. “And you’ve been smoking. Dear God – and next to the baby as well…”
Both women sat back in their chairs and glared at each other, aware that, as usual, they were antagonising each other.
Caroline took a deep breath and blew it slowly through her clenched teeth. She tried again. “Anna, how are you? It is such a beautiful day isn’t it? Shall we have a coffee – that suits looks so lovely on you – just the colour of your eyes”
Anna responded. She smiled as she reached her hand across the table and clasping her sister’s hand dropped her news as a peace offering between them.
“I’m pregnant – eight weeks today – had the ultrasound yesterday.”
Caroline unwrapped the present. “Anna that’s wonderful – eight weeks” she heard herself saying. Inside her head she recounted all those other announcements of pregnancy, smooth satisfied cat like pride to be finally resolved in teeth chattering, gasping sobs or quiet vomiting sorrow, pain and loss.
Anna drew herself up stiffly and tightening her mouth again hissed “You could pretend that you were pleased – you don’t think that I can carry this baby do you? You think I’ll miscarry again don’t you? Just because I lost the others doesn’t mean you are any bloody better than me you know”
“Oh Anna,” groaned Caroline, “you know I don’t mean that at all. Of course I don’t. I know this baby will be fine. Don’t mind me - I am just so tired.”
“No, no it’s me,” soothed Anna, conciliatory again, waggling fingers towards the snottily snoring Fergus. “Hormones of course – in my state! And you - you must be so tired with all three of them – especially this little monkey. Have you tried the new ‘teach to sleep’ technique yet? – I have a terrific book I can loan you. Tony and I will start it from Day One. I know that you and Ben like to have the baby with you all night but really, all the books do say it is a bad habit. I know you do it because you are working during the day so much, but, honestly, you need to spend some time looking after yourself – if you don’t mind me saying you have let yourself go a bit. Do you really need to work now at all anyway? Don’t you think it would be better, especially with Rosie’s problems, if you were at home more? Tony thinks that is half the problem…”
“It’s not really quite that simple,” said Caroline, physically feeling her jaw clenching tighter. “Firstly, the main reason that Fergus is still in our room is that it lets us all get the most sleep. It’s because it really is the easiest. It won’t be forever. And as for Rosie, well I’ve had advice about Rosie shoved down my throat since she was two minutes old. Rosie’ll do. We’ll manage. We’re fine. We’ll do it our way. And as for working - well, my reasons for working are not really any of Tony’s business, or anyone else’s for that matter”.
“Sure,” Anna pressed on doggedly, “of course I know that you feel strongly about working women and all that, but still you need some sleep!! And all the experts really agree that you should start the way you mean to go on. We will put the cot in the nursery straight away. Tony doesn’t want the baby in our room at all – he has very firm views on child raising – I’m lucky that he is so involved, I know. Oh, and while I think of it don’t you dare turn up at our place reeking of cigarette smoke – Tony would have a fit. You really should give up smoking properly and do some exercise. You are so lucky with Ben you know, not every man is as good as Ben you know...with all the housework he does and he is so tolerant of the children…Well, I should speak my mind now, I need to say it – Why can’t you just try to be a proper Mother…”
“We all just do our best,” said Caroline steadily, looking straight at her sister and speaking slowly and clearly through a swirling fog of memories of apparently improper motherhood. “Proper Mother Anna, just what is a proper Mother? We all just do our best and you know what? It is never good enough. Never. We worry if we work that we aren’t there for our children and we worry if we don’t work that we are bad role models and bad providers. We worry about constantly being late everywhere, about being supposed to be in three places at once. Whatever we do is just not-good-enough.”
Her voice dropped and she leant across the table. “As a mother I am supposed to be at home with the children all day at the same time as earning lots of money at work. I am supposed to be baking cupcakes and washing clothes whilst chairing meetings and meeting deadlines at work. I am supposed to do canteen duty and reading group and sell raffle tickets and get promoted and all the time if I don’t smile and act cheerful then it’s obvious that I have postnatal depression. Anna, the simple truth is that some days it is a bloody miracle if I can drag myself around the house, let alone the bloody vacuum cleaner as well. On the other hand, if a male manages to know what the vacuum cleaner looks like then he is a Sainted Treasure and you’re a lucky woman. That’s the justice Anna – there is none. None at all.”
Caroline was crying now, surreptitiously, swinging her hair across her face as she rose, pushing back her chair and cramming her belongings into her bag. She jammed a cigarette in her mouth and the car keys shook in her hands.
“Just remember it’s not like in the books at all. If you come out after the first two years with your sanity and self respect intact then count yourself lucky. Let alone your relationship. We all just do our bloody best. If there’s anything I’ve learnt it’s that I should get down on my knees and beg, yes beg forgiveness for all the times I’ve judged other women. We all just do our bloody best and it is never good enough.”
She swung her bag over her shoulder and jerked the pram and still sleeping child away from the table. She was gone, leaving only a last despairing curl of smoke.
Her sister slid back in her chair and let out her breath, slowly curled her hands over her flat abdomen. Poor Caroline was obviously overwrought – what an over reaction! Perhaps she was depressed? She looked awful - still heaving around all that fat and she needed a haircut. Some new clothes as well. Time she taught that baby a bit of discipline – routine was the key. As for Rosie, well the sooner Rosie was on medication the better for everyone. Anna allowed herself a small smug glow of satisfaction that her life was so different. It was worth waiting till one was well established and disciplined before having children. Caroline just needed some discipline. If she didn’t pull herself together she was going to lose Ben to someone who would appreciate him and would make a bit of an effort – someone who hadn’t let herself go.
Inside Anna’s thickening uterus her developing embryo busily divided once more and then was still. It would be some days before she miscarried again.