Borrowed Light (16 page)

‘Look, women have been raising babies for a long time, you know.'

Well, I know that!' I jerked my head away. ‘So what, so I shouldn't be worried? I should just have that whole collective experience in my head?'

‘Look.' That here she goes again sigh. ‘There's a problem, okay, so let's find a solution. You've asked the doctors—'

‘Yes, but I feel—'

‘Talk about your feelings later, let's find a solution now. I have problems all day in my line of work, and I've developed systems to solve them. Maybe Gany needs a different kind of formula. Maybe he's lactose-intolerant. Ask the doctors, take their advice, and decide what works for you.'

He makes me think of Mother. She deals in formulas too, like E=mc
²
. Those equations are so neat and tidy. Cause and effect
They make a thud, like bricks dropping. No light or space underneath. Mother says, think logically and you'll find the right answer. As if feelings are an irritating by-product, just ‘noise' in one of her experiments.

But how can you find a solution without including feelings? Like having a bath without the water
.

Look at him, sitting there with that poncy suitcase, always on the verge of running away. Look at his spotless shirt and polished shoes. Look at me, God dammit, look at me I've lost ten kilos you blind man, I've got enough circles under my eyes to look like an Olympics logo, and you don't even notice. You wrap yourself up like a present, but no one can undo you.

I
'M GOING TO
invite Sam Underwood over to play. Mum said I could. It'll have to be on a Wednesday, because Sam's really busy on all the other days. He's got soccer on Monday, gymnastics on Tuesday, and Mike is coming to his house on Thursday.

Mum said Wednesday would be all right if we didn't make any noise. Maybe we can have some of her pikelets. Sam said that when he went to Mike's house, he had icecream cake and Coca Cola. We never have Coke at our place. Mum says it puts artificial conservatives in your body, and rots your teeth. I hope Sam likes pikelets. And filtered water.

Sam really wants to come home with me because he can't wait to see my bunker. No one else he knows is building a bunker. He said he'd help me dig. Then, when a meteor falls, he'll be able to come in with my family.

Sam understands about meteors now. His father heard a program on the radio that said scientists are tracking a giant meteor orbiting around our galaxy. There's a one in twenty chance that it will crash on earth. Sam says we'd better get a move on with our digging. He's trying to be super nice to me because he wants his dog Simba to be invited in too. Simba is very big, and he slobbers a lot.

Sam said he'll be my partner for gym. It's really good having a friend. The problem is, icecream is about fifteen hundred times yummier than pikelets, I think. But Mike doesn't have a bunker.

Cally keeps her door closed all the time. Sometimes I don't even know if she's home. Once I ran in without knocking, because my magnifying glass was on her desk and I needed it. She was sitting on the bed.

‘Why aren't you lying down?' I asked. She just shrugged. I told her about Sam coming over and she was really pleased. ‘Good on you, Jem!' she said, and her face actually went happy for a minute. I asked her if she'd make us afternoon tea when Sam comes. I mentioned about Mum's ladies and all, and how maybe we could sneak a few pikelets.

‘I'll tell you a secret,' Cally said. ‘I'll buy a lovely chocolate cake and we'll have that out in the garden.'

‘With filtered water,' I said, ‘in case we get thirsty.'

‘I think my budget can stretch to orange juice.'

I jumped on to the bed and gave Cally one of my best hugs. She held on to me for ages. My nose was squashed and I had to breathe through my mouth. I wriggled a bit and she let go. Her face was all wet.

‘What is it, did I hug you too hard?'

‘Yes, Batman, your muscles are like iron. You should be more careful with us delicate girls.'

We had a really good game then. Cally was Poison Ivy and I was Batman. I actually prefer being Robin. He gets more interesting things to say, like the time when Batman goes out to capture Tony Zucco—that terrible man who killed Robin's parents. Batman won't tell Robin where he's going, because it's too dangerous. So Robin says, ‘Aw, don't shut me out man, don't treat me like a kid!' I
love
that part! I rewind it on video all the time. It's the best. You should see the way Batman looks at Robin. He gives this sort of
crooked smile, and says, ‘Okay then, little buddy, it's just you and me!' I love that bit.

I can't wait till Wednesday.

A
LL THIS WAITING
was driving me mad. I was just one big twisted knot. I knew the herbs wouldn't work, really, but I thought I'd give them four days to do something. You could be lucky, couldn't you? Every time I thought of that idiot, Jim Shepherd, the knot in my stomach pulled tighter. I saw myself sitting there in his ‘office' with that grit all over my gums, smiling away while Tim gave him fifty bucks. Jim Shepherd was a crook. He was like those old-fashioned quacks that used to travel with circuses, selling magical potions. Schizophrenia, arthritis, my ass!

It made me so angry I sat there biting the sheet. I wanted to scream with rage.

But I still hoped. As Tim said, I was a crazy lady.

On Thursday and Friday I found it hard to concentrate in class. Every half hour I'd feel a twinge in my belly—was that a cramp? Now
that
was a dull sort of ache—maybe my period had started. I'd shoot up my hand and excuse myself. I'd steam down to the toilet block, hardly waiting for the door to bang shut before I'd tear down my pants to see. Nothing.

‘Cally's got the runs! Cally's got ru-uns!' The kids in the class were chanting like kindergarteners. Mrs Graham let me go early on Friday. I think she was afraid I might have an accident.

By Friday night I wasn't really hoping any more. I was exhausted.

Some people might be lucky, but not me. I'd thought that if by some miraculous chance the blood did start, it would mean there was such a thing as luck in the world.

Over the weekend I looked at the phone book a lot. I threw up my lunch. On Sunday I found my doctor's after hours number. I asked him for a referral to a clinic. He suggested a place with an excellent reputation that offered family planning advice and terminations. I didn't know whether I preferred the word ‘termination' or ‘abortion'. ‘Termination' was softer, but it made me think of that ghastly movie with Arnold Swarzenegger,
The Terminator.

Is that what I was?

See, you're not going to read this any more now, are you. Well, are you? You won't approve of me, I bet. You might say—well, what a creature, a sluttish girl with no moral backbone. Would you? In the olden days girls went ahead and had the baby because anything else was impossible. Many wounded themselves irreparably with knitting needles, others drank gin in scalding baths. Girls killed themselves with cures.

I swallowed some herbs. If they worked, or I had a miscarriage, I wouldn't have to make a decision. I wished like hell I didn't have to. Jeremy got his finger stuck in the plughole once. When we got it out it was tom and bleeding and he wailed at what he'd done to himself. I could see him feeling so sorry for his finger. ‘Oh why didn't I know not to do that?' he cried.

Sometimes we just don't know. People can tell us what it's like for them—that if you do A then B will happen, if you have sex then you could get pregnant—so whatever you do, be careful. But we're each encased in our own little bags of skin, so tight and separate that even the facts of life can't get through. At least, that's how it was for me.

On the phone the doctor started to ask how I was feeling, and did I have anyone to talk to, but I just said I was fine, adding that full stop the way my mother does. I couldn't begin relying on anyone else right now.

When I got off the phone a scene came into my mind of a
grown woman—at least twenty-five—with a house and a job and a dog and breasts and all, rushing to meet her husband with the news. The two of them would be overjoyed, hugging and cavorting all over the flowerbeds. Their little fish would be welcomed. She would spend her nine months stroking it into being with her mind. He would pat her belly each night, and put his ear over her gentle rise.

It made me cry, that vision, if you really want to know. I kept seeing it, like a rerun of a movie. Over and over, they kept leaping over the flowerbeds. But the man didn't have Tim's face. I was sixteen. I wasn't ready to have a baby alone.

Do you understand? I need you to hear my side of this. When I think of you out there disapproving of me, shaking your head, or quickly flicking over the page, it fills me with shame. I grow so hot I think I'm going to burst.

Some girls, I knew, had babies when they were as young as me. They didn't have husbands or jobs. But I couldn't imagine how they did it. Or what the rest of their lives would be like.

I only knew what
I
was like. And I wasn't ready to have a baby. I had to make a decision. And I had to do it fast. And to tell you the truth, I just wanted to get it over with. The undertow was drowning me
—What mill I do, solve me, think about me, do something about me!

I wanted a second chance. I was only sixteen.

M
Y APPOINTMENT AT
the clinic was for next Thursday week, in the afternoon. There would be counselling first, and then if I wanted to go ahead, I could have the operation. The woman on the phone was so patient and helpful, even when I kept getting the address wrong, and mixing up the times. ‘That's all right, just take your time,' she said. I would need
to wait for a couple of hours after the operation, she reminded me, just to make sure there were no complications. Would there be someone to take me home?

I panicked for a moment. Then something stirred in my head, some new voice that seemed to have awakened in there, and it said, ‘Oh yes, I'll take care of that.'

I could get a taxi. I'd been putting my pocket money for house-cleaning in the bank for years now, and I'd managed to save quite a bit. If I needed a new dress or a pair of jeans I always agonised so long, making up my mind, that in the end someone else bought the thing. Procrastination was good for my bank balance, if nothing else.

When I put down the phone, I felt a small surge of energy. It had a voice, the one that said ‘I'll take care of that'. Now it said, with a little upbeat tone, ‘You'll be all right, Cally, I'll look after you. We're doing this, all by ourselves!'

It was true. Maybe you don't approve, but for once it was me, Callisto May who was organising everything. I'd found the clinic, I'd made the time and appointment, I was taking care of business. And with no help or light or warmth from a single other human being. It mightn't seem much to be proud of, it might seem pretty miserable to you, but for me it was something.

Then an alarming thought struck me. Thursday—Mum didn't have to go out anywhere, did she? No, she had her meditation class that day. Jeremy could just play in his room while the meeting was on. He often did that. But I thought I'd better check, just to make sure.

‘T
HURSDAY THE FIFTEENTH?'
echoed Mum. She was standing in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for a roast. The chicken lay in the baking dish. Skin wrinkled and flabbed all around its feet. I kept my eyes on the white kitchen cupboards, to
avoid being sick. The sight or smell of food was enough to set off the nausea. Especially raw chicken, with its neck still on.

Next to the baking dish was a book opened on the bench. It looked like a recipe book, the pages all spotted with grease. I peered closer and saw the first few words. ‘Double consciousness is a concept not easily measured by science.'

‘Oh Mum,' I snorted. ‘How can you cook and read at the same time? Why don't you just concentrate on one thing at a time? And I hope that's not a library book.' Sometimes I wondered who the parent was around here.

Mum stuck out her lip like Jeremy does when he gets caught. ‘I just want to finish the chapter, that's all.' She gave the chicken leg an angry prod. ‘I hate meat, anyway,' she muttered. ‘Those hens are stuffed so full of chemicals, trapped in their airless cages all day. When they die, we eat all their anguish. It's repulsive.'

‘You should write the ads for the Vegetarian Society, Mum. You'd win over even the most hardened carnivores.'

Mum smiled for a moment. A strange light came into her eyes.

‘No, no,' I said in a rush, ‘I was only joking.' She was busy enough with her seances and hypnosis and meditation and herbal remedies. I couldn't stand another cause.

‘Thursday afternoon,' I reminded her. ‘I have to go out. I probably won't be home until nine-ish. You'll be here to look after Jeremy, won't you?'

‘Hmm,' said Mum, giving my question all her attention. She was raking out the insides of the chicken.

‘You can buy them with their innards already cleaned, you know,' I said.

‘I know that, but I don't trust them. When I do it myself, I can see how healthy the chicken was. Get a good look at the state of its insides.'

I went back to staring at the kitchen cupboards.

‘There's a meditation class on Thursdays, as you know, Cal,' said Mum. ‘Jeremy's too young to join in.'

Heaven forbid! ‘Yes, Mum, but he can just stay in his room. He often does that.'

Mum looked up. ‘You usually take him out. It's easier that way, and it's better for Jeremy. I don't want him cooped up all afternoon in his room.'

So many protests sprang to mind that I didn't know where to begin. This new voice of mine was becoming quite loud inside me. It made me jiggle with irritation.