Drip Dry (16 page)

11.15 am

Today I can't find a car park at the William Angliss Hospital anywhere I look. I circle for about fifteen
minutes before I finally give up and drive further up the road in search of a house without a ‘No Parking' sign out the front. I find one about a bus-ride away from the hospital, lock the car up, and begin the long trek back – with CJ at my side.

After my little mishap this morning, it took me quite a bit longer than usual to get myself organised. Firstly, by the time I had finished my second shower, Samantha was just about tearing her hair out with worry about being late and then, after she had finished, I had to physically push Ben into the bathroom and stand guard (with my eyes closed, of course) to make sure that
he
showered. So, it wasn't until they had been organised and had left the premises that I realised CJ was still wrapped in a towel and playing with her birthday presents in her room. By then it was almost nine o'clock and she wasn't even close to being dressed – let alone anything else. So I decided on the spur of the moment to give her a day off and bring her with me to visit her aunt and her two new baby cousins at the hospital.

The weather is slightly warmer than yesterday but nowhere near the hot, humid weather we had been experiencing before the change. And it's actually a nice day for a walk, especially since all we have to carry is a couple of small gifts for the twins. I am dressed in a batik-print summer skirt, matching sleeveless cotton shirt and black sandals while CJ has on a pair of bright yellow short-overalls with a bright yellow and pale blue Winnie-the-Pooh t-shirt underneath. We are both looking very nice, very neat, and our hair is decidedly nit-free.

On the walk to the hospital we chat about school, and friends, and the likelihood of CJ growing up to look like me – with all my assorted lumps and bumps. We are the best of friends as we arrive at the hospital doors and I am now enjoying the day once again. CJ presses the button for the elevator and we lurch up to the maternity ward. I take her over to the glass window to show her the babies-in-residence but today the nursery is bare. Probably because it is still too early for the babies to have worn their mothers down yet. Come late afternoon there's sure to be a positive rush of weary women depositing their new offspring with heartfelt sighs of relief.

Diane's door is open so I stick my head around the doorjamb to make sure that she is awake. She is – and she has company. Her eldest son, Nicholas, is lounging on the bed next to his mother with one of the babies sleeping peacefully on his lap. Bronte, his girlfriend, is sitting on the uncomfortable green chair I frequented on Tuesday, cooing softly to the other baby, who is nestled on
her
lap.

‘Hi, everyone!' I bustle in and dump my gifts on the bed next to Nick. CJ streams past me and pushes herself up against Bronte so that she can see the baby's face. Everybody talks simultaneously.

‘Cam! What happened to
you
yesterday?'

‘Oh! She is sooo cute! C'n I hold her?'

‘Hi, Aunt Cam. CJ. What d'you think of my sisters?'

‘Hello, CJ. What're you doing at home?'

‘C'n I hold her?
Please
, c'n I hold her?'

‘I don't know, CJ.' I look at Diane for a clue. CJ
already has her hands out and is persistently plucking at the baby's pink bunny-rug.

‘I tell you what, CJ. If Bronte will get up, then you can sit in that seat – and be very careful, all right?' Diane takes the baby from Bronte and CJ slides into the seat, a huge grin of anticipation plastered on her face. Diane places the baby gingerly on CJ's lap and, still keeping one protective hand on her child, sits down on the armrest. I peer more closely to check out which baby my daughter is staring at so adoringly – it's Robin. And her face is
still
exceedingly red. I hope she never takes up drinking in a big way.

‘Cam, Mum said that if I saw you, to tell you she'll be a bit late on Friday night.' Bronte positions herself on the area of bed vacated by Diane and turns to look at me.

‘Okay, that's fine.' I think I may cancel Friday anyway. One look at me and Terry will want to know everything – and I mean
everything
– that went on on Tuesday night. Terry and I try to get together most Friday nights for a few drinks and what has sort of evolved into a debrief session for the week. We bounce ideas off each other, unload on each other, and sometimes even get or give some helpful advice. Although the usefulness of the advice does seem to have a direct bearing on how much or how little we have had to drink.

The trouble this week is that it's too late for ideas, and I don't really feel like unloading – in fact, I don't want to even think about Certain Things, let alone admit to them. I smile at Bronte to let her
know that she has passed her message on successfully. Bronte is Terry's twenty-year-old daughter, her only child. She first met my eldest nephew at a barbecue I held at the end of last winter and they have been as thick as thieves ever since – much to the disgust of both their maternal parents. Terry is disgusted because she doesn't want Bronte to make the same mistakes that she made and get so serious, so young. And Diane is disgusted because . . . well, because she needs to feel needed, and if Nick has a serious girlfriend, he doesn't need her quite as much. That's how she thinks, anyway. But perhaps these two little girls will help her to let go of her bigger boys. We can only hope.

I have to say, though, that Nicholas and Bronte make a stunning couple. Nick, like his brothers, has inherited his father's large frame and blond good looks while Bronte is close to the spitting image of her mother. She is very tall, very blonde and very statuesque. And her father's one useful legacy is her absolutely perfect teeth (he's a dentist). Together, the pair would not look out of place taking the stage for one of those dramatic Valkyrie operas.

‘Here, Aunt Cam, have my seat,' Nick says to me as he hands the baby he was nursing to Bronte and stands up behind her with his hand on her shoulder. They look almost like proud young parents themselves – but I don't think I'll mention this to my sister.

‘Thanks.' I sit down on the edge of the bed so that my feet will still touch the ground and not swing in the air like a preschooler. Bronte doesn't have this problem at all.

‘So where
were
you yesterday?'

‘Oh, Di, I had such a busy day on Tuesday that I was totally wasted yesterday.'

‘How
was
your party, CJ?'

‘It was
fantastic
, Auntie Diane! We were all dressed as fairies, and Caitlin won a bubbly thing, and she poked Jaime's eye out with her wand and Zoe broke her nose and we watched a bideo of Mummy –' She pauses as she shoots me a horrified glance. ‘I mean someone else, not Mummy – oh, look! The baby moobed!'

‘They do that, CJ,' I respond dryly. ‘Listen, Di, any word on when you're getting out?'

‘Definitely Saturday, probably in the morning. I can't wait.'

‘Neither can we, Mum.'

‘Why, Nick! Are you missing me?'

‘Oh yes, of course. And Dad cooks total crap.'

‘Well, it's nice to know that I'm missed,' Diane says sarcastically, but she has a smug smile on her face.

‘But I'm cooking tonight, Mrs Woodmason, so I'll make sure they eat something decent.' Bronte smiles engagingly at her boyfriend's mother. If she is trying to win her over, she is using the wrong approach. Diane's smug smile fades rapidly.

‘Really, Bronte. How nice.'

‘Yeah, Bronte's a fabulous cook, Mum!'

‘Great.'

‘But we'd better get going. I promised Grandma I'd give her a hand this morning.'

‘Oh, that's nice of you, Nick!'

‘Didn't have much choice, Mum,' Nick replies with a wry grimace. ‘Wish to hell I did.'

‘Well, it's still nice of you.'

‘Yeah, whatever. C'mon, Bronte. See you all later.' Nick leans forwards and pecks his mother on the cheek before placing his hand on CJ's and then each of the twins' heads in turn. ‘Bye, girls!'

‘Bye, all.' Bronte hands her sleeping baby over to me. ‘And don't worry about them, Mrs Woodmason, I'll take care of everything.'

‘Wonderful. Goodbye.' Diane smiles tightly at her eldest offspring and his girlfriend as they leave the room, holding hands and waving.

‘Bye!' CJ and I chorus brightly. I turn back to my sister and grin at the pained expression on her face.

‘It's not that funny! She's driving me nuts!'

‘Shh.' I indicate CJ who is sitting in her chair listening intently. ‘Little pitchers and all that, you know. Besides, she's not that bad.'

‘Not that bad! She's so . . . so –'

‘So like you?'

‘Oh,
rubbish
! She's just so obliging, and helpful – I can't stand it!'

‘She's only trying too hard, that's all.'

‘You wait – your turn will come!'

‘Oh, Diane, there's a lot worse.' Although I do wish that Bronte was a bit more like her mother. She simply doesn't seem to have that feisty quality, or quite the
depth
that Terry has, and I often wonder whether part of the reason that Nick is so enamoured of her is that she
is
so obliging, and helpful. That and the fact that she is so absolutely drop-dead
gorgeous. Besides, fond as I am of my four nephews, I have to admit that they won't win any prizes for profundity either.

‘Anyway, let's change the subject. It's depressing,' says Diane as she adjusts CJ's arms slightly. ‘So, when does Alex get back?'

‘He already has,' I mutter as I tuck the bunny-rug around Regan. So far she hasn't opened her eyes and looks for all the world like any other ordinary, innocent little baby.

‘You're kidding! How is he?'

‘Fine. Look, we brought you some presents! Go on, unwrap them!'

‘Oh,
thank
you.' Diane keeps one protective hand on the baby in CJ's lap and takes a present with the other. She starts to unwrap it awkwardly.

‘I picked them out, Auntie Diane!'

‘Oh, lovely!' Diane pushes the wrapping paper onto the floor and holds up a lemon Beatrix Potter beanie, mittens and bootee set. ‘This is
so
cute!'

‘The other one's the same, Auntie Diane.'

‘I
was
going to get different colours,' I say as I pass the other present over, ‘but then I thought that this way, if you lose a mitten or whatever, then you can still make up matched sets. Do you know what I mean?'

‘Perfectly.' Diane unwraps the second present and puts them both together on the bed. ‘And it's very good thinking. Thank you very much. They're gorgeous.'

‘That's okay. And we got winter outfits deliberately because I thought you'd already have loads for
the summer and it's nearly autumn anyway. Besides, they were the cutest things we saw. It was fun, wasn't it, CJ?'

‘Oh, it was!' CJ enthuses as she gazes adoringly at her baby cousin. ‘Will they eber wake up?'

‘I certainly hope so,' responds Diane, ‘but they just had a feed before you came so they're pretty tired. Now, how come you're not at school, young lady?'

‘Oh, Mummy fell down the bathroom floor and had to hab another shower. Not because of the nits this time, but because she got all yucky. And then she couldn't get ready on time.'

‘What?' Diane looks at me questioningly.

‘I
did
get ready on time, CJ! It was you who was still mucking around at nine o'clock!' I glare at my daughter before turning to Diane and offering an interpretation. ‘We're having the bathroom floor replaced because part of it collapsed on Monday so there's only a plank there at the moment – and I just slipped. Anyway, then we – I mean, CJ – wasn't ready on time, so I decided to give her a day off so that she could come and see the twins, that's all.'

‘You forgot your nits.'

‘They aren't my nits!
CJ
was sent home with nits yesterday so we all did our hair just in case.' I start to scratch my head involuntarily and notice that Diane is doing the same. ‘But it was only a precaution.'

‘Oh, yeah?'

‘Yeah!'

‘Sounds like you're having a fun week!'

‘You don't know the half of it.'

‘So tell me all then. I'm going stir crazy stuck in here with no one to talk to except these two.' She gestures at the twins who are behaving themselves admirably at the moment. I only hope that they are this good for her when they get home. But I doubt it. It's been my experience that babies tend to lull you into a false sense of security so that you take them home brimming with confidence, and then they hit you right between the eyes with their true personality. And it's too late to return them because you've taken the tags off. I look down at Regan who is breathing deeply but evenly with her little rosebud mouth ever so slightly open. She looks quite adorable with her eyes closed.

‘Come on! What's been happening?'

‘Well, apart from Mum with her incessant wedding arrangements. I tell you, you're lucky you're cooped up in here and don't have to get involved. Oh, damn!'

‘What?'

‘Nothing. I just remembered that I'm supposed to be picking up the rotten shoes from Boronia. For the girls. You know, the ones with the pinkish trim.'

‘Oh, lovely,' Diane says with a grin.

‘Yep, that's exactly what Sam said when she saw them,' I comment sarcastically. ‘CJ, can you remind me to pick up the shoes after we leave here?'

‘My lubly pink shoes?'

‘That's right – those ones.'

‘Anyway, if you think that I'm getting away from it all in here, you're wrong. Mum rings me every
night and fills me in on all the details for about an hour. Every night. I think she believes she's doing me a favour.'