Almost Perfect (10 page)

‘Morning Dr A,' Kerrie chirped as Anna walked through the doors into the main reception area. It didn't matter how many times Anna told her she wasn't a doctor, Kerrie still persisted in calling her ‘Dr A'. She called Doug ‘Dr Doug' or alternatively, when there were no clients around, ‘Gorgeous George', as a reference to the actor George Clooney who had apparently played a doctor named Doug in some TV show Kerrie was fond of. Anna sometimes wondered just how firm Kerrie's grasp on reality actually was. But Doug had laughed when she'd
mentioned it to him. ‘She's saner than you and I put together. And the clients adore her.'

Anna couldn't argue with that. In her more tolerant moments she understood Kerrie's appeal. She was ebullient but sensitive, able to elicit a smile from even the most chronic depressive.

‘Did you have a good weekend?'

‘Mm,' Anna murmured absently, browsing her appointment schedule.

‘What did you get up to?' Kerrie persisted.

Anna looked up at her. She wasn't really in the mood for conversation but it was not in her nature to be impolite. ‘Oh, well, let me think, we went to see a play on Saturday night, and we took a drive up to the mountains yesterday, lunch, you know . . .'

‘No, I don't know,' Kerrie groaned. ‘I've got kids, remember.'

‘Pardon?'

‘When you've got kids, weekends go like this: you spend Saturday ferrying them around to sporting fixtures – at this time of the year it's athletics and swim squad. Saturday night, Sophie had a sleepover so we had eight screaming thirteen-year-old girls camped out on the lounge-room floor. Richard and I had the choice of watching a teen videofest or going to bed. We chose bed, not that we could sleep, of course. The girls giggled and shrieked until two in the morning at which time we read the riot act. The ceasefire only lasted till about six when the chatter started again, and eventually the dancing and singing when
Video Hits
came on the TV. By the time we drove them all home Sunday and did the shopping
for the week, we just had time to get the school and work clothes ironed and the house back in order. That was my weekend.'

Anna smiled. ‘Sounds like fun.'

‘Wanna swap?' Kerrie exclaimed, gaping at her. ‘The last time I went to the theatre, Mel Gibson was still a student at NIDA. And as for driving to the mountains, you don't go for a pleasant drive just for the sake of it with kids. They spend the whole time whining, “Are we there yet?”, “How much further?”, “What are we going for anyway?”, “There's nothing to do there!” And going out for lunch is McDonald's, Hungry Jack's or KFC.' She sighed. ‘Take it from me, Dr A, relish your life while you've still got one.'

Mac pulled into the driveway as the six o'clock news bulletin was wrapping up on the radio. They were forecasting rain for the next few days and already the sky was turning black. As he got out of the car he could smell a storm in the air. Normally he wouldn't leave the office for at least another hour, and often much later. But Anna had phoned him at work insisting he come home as soon as possible. She wouldn't explain, but there was a kind of restrained hysteria in her tone that Mac knew he shouldn't ignore.

As he entered the house Anna called out to him from the sunroom. He could hear the edge in her voice from there.

‘Coming,' he replied, leaving his briefcase outside the study. He'd probably have to do some work later. Walking down the hall, he could see her pacing back and forth across the room, a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other. Not a good sign. Anna wasn't a smoker, it was something she reserved for her bleakest moments. Self-medication, she told Mac. She promised him she wouldn't make it a regular habit and she hadn't, yet.

‘What's going on?' he said, coming through the doorway.

She stopped pacing, glaring at him from across the room. ‘You don't think I don't know what's going on?' she retorted.

‘What are you talking about?'

‘You don't think I didn't see what you were doing all weekend?'

‘Could you stop speaking in double negatives and get to the point please, Anna?'

She put a hand on her hip, clearly exasperated. ‘The play Saturday night, the drive to the country Sunday?'

Mac just looked at her, mystified.

‘You filled the weekend with “child-free” activities in a very transparent attempt to prove to me how great our life would be without children.'

He sighed heavily. ‘There wasn't any hidden agenda, Anna. Would you have been happier going to McDonald's or the zoo or somewhere you'd be
surrounded by children and families? You're always telling me you can't stand that.'

‘And all the talk about a holiday?' she went on, barely acknowledging Mac had spoken. ‘That's just an underhanded way of getting me to take a break from the treatment.'

‘Anna, did you call me home from work just to make ridiculous accusations?'

‘It's after six, Mac,' she said. ‘It's not as though it's abnormally early. You only stay at work so late so that you can avoid being with me.'

Mac rubbed his forehead. ‘Well, keep it up, Anna, and that'll become a self-fulfilling prophecy.'

That seemed to stop her in her tracks. Mac walked across to the liquor cabinet, past Anna's shoes lying askew on the floor where she had obviously kicked them off. He poured himself a Scotch. He wasn't much of a spirits drinker but he could use the hit. He took a large swig and turned to face Anna again. She was standing at the open French doors, looking out into the failing light of the garden.

‘They said on the radio it's going to rain,' Mac ventured in a vain attempt to change the subject and diffuse the tension.

Anna turned around slowly. ‘You don't believe we're ever going to have a baby, do you, Mac?'

‘What?'

‘Admit it, you don't think it's ever going to happen.'

‘I don't know–'

‘If you really believed we were going to have a baby, you wouldn't even consider giving up.'

Mac didn't say anything.

‘Well, there you have it,' she said grimly.

‘Anna . . .'

‘You realise you've just taken away the only thing I had left.'

‘What's that?' he frowned.

‘Hope.'

Mac tossed the rest of his drink back. ‘You're putting words into my mouth, Anna. I don't know if we'll ever have a baby, okay? Nobody seems to know. The best fertility specialists in the country haven't got a clue, so how do you expect me to know?'

‘I expect you to have some faith, I expect you to support me.'

‘I have supported you, Anna, for seven fucking years all I've done is support you. Is it so much to ask just to have a break for a while?'

‘What the hell do you need a break from?' she cried. ‘I'm the one who takes the drugs and has the injections and the blood tests and the surgery. I'm the one who gets bloated and sore and has headaches and nausea and pain!'

‘Which is exactly why you need a break!' he declared, raising his voice.

Anna glared at him, breathing hard. ‘Well that should be my decision.'

Something snapped then. ‘Why?' he demanded.

She frowned. ‘What do you mean?'

‘Why is everything your decision, Anna?'

‘Because it's my body.'

‘But it's my life!' he exclaimed. ‘Where do I fit into all this?'

Anna just looked at him.

‘No, I don't take the drugs or have the surgery, but you don't think it affects me?'

‘I didn't say that–'

‘The years of watching you go through this, the time, the energy, the constant, utter, fucking misery.' He paused, catching his breath. ‘Is this what you wanted our lives to be about?'

She'd never seen him so hostile, so negative. ‘I wanted a family. I thought that's what you wanted too.'

‘I would have loved to have a family of our own, Anna. But not at any price.'

‘What? It's the money that's bothering you?'

‘Christ, Anna!'

‘Sorry, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. That was stupid. But you have to help me out here, Mac, I'm just trying to understand. Yes, our whole lives have been about this, it's why we bought this house, it's been behind every decision we've made for nearly a decade. This is what we both wanted, we can't give up now.'

Mac was glaring at her. There was a strange look in his eyes. ‘What if I asked you to?'

‘What?'

‘What if I asked you to give up, Anna. To do it for me.'

The panic was rising in her chest again. ‘Are you asking what if, or are you asking me to actually do this?'

‘I don't understand . . .' he shook his head vaguely.

‘There's a difference,' Anna explained, trying to stay calm. ‘Asking hypothetically would I give it up for you, is different to asking me to actually give it up. When you love somebody, you'd give up anything for them, that's the deal. But if they love you, they'd have to have a very good reason for asking.'

‘I have a good reason,' said Mac. ‘I want to get our life back.'

‘By giving up a life?'

‘What?'

‘You're asking me to choose between you and our child. That's not fair, Mac.'

‘There is no child, Anna!' he cried. ‘I'm asking you to choose me. To choose us.'

‘This is ridiculous, Mac.'

‘Is it so ridiculous to think about a life together, just you and me?'

‘That's not what I meant–'

‘Can't you see that I've had enough? I can't live like this. I can't do it any more, Anna. I swear if I have to walk into that godawful room with the videos and the magazines one more time–'

‘For Chrissakes, Mac, you wank into a cup and you think that gives you the right . . .' Anna stopped suddenly, biting her lip.

Mac was just staring at her. ‘What did you say?'

‘I'm sorry, Mac,' she said breathlessly.

‘No, please, go on, Anna. I'd love to hear the rest of that sentence.'

She swallowed. ‘I didn't mean it the way it came out.'

‘What? You didn't mean that I have no rights,
that I'm pretty insignificant in the scheme of things?' His voice was deep and grim, his jaw clenched. ‘You're not saying I'm just a means to an end, eh, Anna?'

‘Of course that's not what I'm saying, Mac, I would never say that.'

‘I think it's exactly what you're saying,' he said bitterly. ‘If we can't have a child, then what's the point?'

Anna was dumbstruck, she didn't know what to say.

‘See, I can stand the thought of a life without a child,' he went on. ‘I'd be disappointed, sad, heartbroken probably. But I could move on, make a life with you. But that's not enough for you, is it, Anna?' he said resignedly. ‘I'm not enough.'

She found her voice again. ‘You can't possibly understand what it's like for a woman, Mac.'

The French doors swung out behind her as a gust of wind smacked them back against the house. Anna turned and stepped outside to grab both door handles, pulling them closed and securing the barrel bolts. The rain had started; it was spraying against the glass panes of the doors, sweeping in sheets across the garden. Anna jumped as she heard the front door slam. She turned around. The room was empty.

‘Mac?' she called as she hurried up the hall. She opened the front door but the rain swept in, forcing her to close it again. She peered through the glass, just in time to see Mac's car take off up the street.

The lift door opened and Stella stepped out, holding her dripping umbrella away from her body. Damned unpredictable Sydney weather. She was on the beach only last weekend. The water had been a tad too cold for swimming, but the sand was warm, the breeze balmy and she'd spent an enjoyable couple of hours stretched out on a towel, absorbing the sun and a few chapters of a particularly gripping thriller. And she'd just had her overcoat drycleaned in the mistaken belief she wouldn't need it again until next year. But she'd forgotten about October. It should have been called April the way it made a fool out of everyone. October was the wet blanket of spring, literally; the party pooper, spoiling the fun for everybody. Like a cranky old teacher who noticed the class was enjoying themselves a little too much and it was time to put an end to it. Of course it didn't always rain in October, that would be too predictable. And rain in Sydney was anything but predictable. It was erratic, sporadic and bloody inconvenient.

Stella dumped her umbrella in the wastepaper bin beside her desk. The office was so quiet she could hear the hum of the fluorescent lights. She liked coming into work at this time of the morning. Mac was an early starter and she felt better if she was here first, organised and ready for whatever he needed as soon as he arrived. Stella derived a great deal of satisfaction from her job, from being valued, being useful, occasionally even indispensable. But she knew that only
went so far. If she ever left, Mac would find someone else, the company would go on, the world would keep revolving. Stella was a pragmatist, she knew her place in the universe and she didn't fight it.

She switched on her computer and left it to start up while she went to open Mac's office. As she unlocked the door she was surprised to find the room in darkness, the blinds firmly closed. Mac had a superb view across the city and the harbour and he always kept the blinds open. Besides, she'd left after him yesterday and she was sure they were open then; she would have noticed otherwise. She walked around behind Mac's desk and twisted the slim rod that controlled the slats, allowing stripes of muddied light into the room. Stella peered out. One pitiful ray of sunlight had escaped through a chink in the clouds and was reflecting off the main sail of the Opera House, illuminating it. The rest of the city, however, was grey and dismal, the water metallic. Stella realised she was humming again. She couldn't get this damned song out of her head, but she could only remember the title, ‘It's Raining Again', after which she kept adding,
‘my life's gonna end'
. Stella disliked the rain as much as the next person, but it seemed a rather extreme reaction to a spot of bad weather. She was pretty sure she had it wrong, so of course that guaranteed it would play in a continuous loop in her head all day, until some other equally annoying song swooped in and took its place.

Sometimes it helped to sing out loud, releasing it, as it were. Stella cleared her throat, taking hold of the cord to give it a good yank. ‘Na na na na na, my
life's gonna end,' she sang as she stepped backwards, pulling the blind all the way up to the top of the window.

‘Stella.'

She screamed and dropped the cord, sending the blind hurtling back down, knocking over a framed photo in its haste. She spun around, her heart thumping in her chest. ‘Mac!'

He was lying on the couch, his forearm shielding his eyes. He lifted it slightly, squinting out at her.

‘What are you doing?' she demanded, walking around his desk.

‘I was sleeping.'

‘You scared me half to death!'

‘I could say the same thing about you,' he said, his voice still croaky. He cleared his throat. ‘What was that you were attempting to sing?'

‘Never mind, I'm trying to get it out of my head.'

‘Believe me, so am I.' He pulled himself upright, dropping his feet onto the floor. ‘What time is it?' he asked, raking his fingers through his hair.

‘Just after seven,' said Stella. ‘Have you been here all night, Mac?'

He nodded, leaning his elbows on his knees as he supported his head in his hands.

‘I thought you went home?' she asked carefully.

‘I did. But I had some things I wanted to catch up on, so I came back again.'

Stella knew something was wrong. Mac often worked late into the night, but he'd rarely ever bedded down here. ‘You'd better go home, get some rest.'

‘No, I slept all right.'

‘Then go home and have a shower, get changed.'

He looked up at her. ‘What did you say the time was?'

‘It's just after seven.'

‘Okay, I'll go in a little while.'

‘After Anna's left for work?'

Mac slumped back against the couch, tucking his hands behind his head and stretching his legs out before him. Stella dragged a chair away from the desk and sat down, facing him. ‘You told Anna what you told me the other night?'

He sighed heavily. ‘We talked it all through on the weekend. I thought it went all right. But it obviously didn't sink in till yesterday.'

‘That's why you went home when she called?'

He nodded, but he didn't say anything. Stella didn't know how much she ought to push it. He stood up suddenly and walked over to the window, taking hold of one of the blind cords and pulling it up to reveal the grey skyline. He did the same with the second blind, still not saying anything. Stella stood and turned around as Mac noticed the frame that had been knocked over. He picked it up and stared at it. It was a picture of Anna, taken not long after they first met.

‘You know,' he said quietly, almost to himself, ‘I just wanted to have a break, to see what we had left together.' He replaced the frame on the shelf that ran under the window. ‘Turns out–'

The phone rang suddenly, invasively. Stella
reached over to pick it up. She'd blow off whoever it was, Mac didn't need to be bothered now.

‘Good morning, Morgan Trask,' she said crisply.

‘Oh, I was after Mac . . . Is that you, Stella?'

Stella recognised the voice. ‘Hello Anna.' Mac jerked his head up. Stella watched him, waiting for instruction. He nodded. ‘I'll put him on,' she said, passing the phone across the desk as Mac stepped in front of his chair and sat down, taking it from her.

‘I'll get you some coffee,' she whispered. He gave her a wan smile as she left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. He took a deep breath as he raised the phone to his ear.

‘Anna.'

‘Hi Mac,' she said. ‘Where have you been? Did you sleep at the office?'

‘I did.'

She paused a moment. ‘Mac, I'm so sorry, so incredibly sorry–'

‘It's okay.'

‘No, it's not okay!' she insisted. ‘I said some terrible things last night. I was angry and upset, that's all, it didn't mean anything.'

He turned his chair around to face the view. ‘Oh, but I think it did, Anna.'

‘How can you say that, Mac?' she cried. ‘I was angry and upset, we both were.'

He sighed. ‘Look, it doesn't matter anyway.'

‘Of course it matters, Mac. Would you stop saying that?'

‘I just don't want you to feel bad about this. To be honest, you've put things into perspective for me.'

‘What are you talking about?'

‘Well, relegating me to sperm donor–'

‘Mac!'

‘Hear me out,' he continued over the top of her. ‘I've thought this over very carefully, Anna, and now I realise that – how did you put it again? – “wanking in a cup” is a fairly crucial part of the whole process.'

‘Mac, don't . . .' she breathed.

‘It's all been up to you, Anna, everything. How you felt, what you wanted, what you could cope with. I've never refused you anything, I only wanted you to be happy.' He sighed. ‘Well, it didn't work. We're both miserable. And I'm sick to death of being miserable. I want my life back. I want to be happy for a change.'

‘I want you to be happy, Mac.'

‘I don't think you give a damn whether I'm happy or not, Anna.'

She said nothing for a moment as his anger reverberated down the phone line. She couldn't let everything fall apart because of one thoughtless, careless remark. She wouldn't let it.

‘I do care about your happiness, Mac,' she said firmly. ‘And I'll prove it to you. If you want me to take a break from the treatment, then that's what I'll do.'

‘Yes, Anna,' he said wearily, ‘that's what we're going to do.'