Sticks and Stones (10 page)

Maddie waited for a moment to make sure that Fiona had nothing further to add, and then she cleared her throat. ‘Well, I suppose that leaves me. I have two children as well and I've been . . . separated for six years.' She paused. ‘Ah, it's not easy.'

‘That's the understatement of the century!' Jenny grinned and then looked at Maddie quizzically. ‘Can I ask a personal question, Maddie?'

‘Um, okay.'

‘Was there some particular reason you decided to join a support group now? I mean, if you've been separated for six years but you've never joined one before, well, why now?'

Maddie hesitated momentarily. ‘It's just everything was going quite smoothly, before, mainly because my ex was out of touch. Living overseas. But now that he's back, well, we just have to work out access and things like that. Which I'm sure we'll get on top of eventually. But I suppose I wanted to . . .'

Jenny jumped in quickly as Maddie trailed off. ‘That's fine. Absolutely fine. And I hope I wasn't rude. I really wasn't trying to pry.'

‘No problem,' said Maddie, trying to look as if she meant it.

‘Do you want to talk about it?' asked Lyn, leaning forward.

Maddie looked around the room. ‘Actually, would you mind if I didn't? I think, for tonight, I'd like to just listen. Is that okay?'

‘Absolutely!' said Jenny heartily. ‘Sometimes listening is the best medicine.'

‘And it should be prescribed a little more frequently,' added Fiona with a smile. ‘With a double dose for most men.'

The other two women laughed and Maddie relaxed, just slightly, now that the pressure was off. They started talking about Fiona's daughter's wedding, and the difficulties of a seating plan when half of the guests were no longer speaking to each other. Maddie sipped her coffee and smiled every so often, just to feel included.

‘Well, I have some news as well,' said Jenny during a brief lull. ‘Good news and bad news but I'll start with the good.' She sat back and smiled at each of them in turn. ‘I've got a date this Friday night.'

‘Who?' Lyn sat forward. ‘Where? When? Details, please.'

Jenny's smile widened. ‘Well, he's actually the friend of a friend. Sort of a blind date, though I have met him before, very briefly. He's tall, dark and handsome. Lovely.'

‘The eternal optimist.' Fiona looked at her pensively. ‘And what about the bad news?'

‘Oh.' Jenny's smile crumpled. ‘Yes. Well, you're going to love this. There I was, doing my groceries, minding my own business, when who do I happen to see?' She chewed her lip for a moment and then looked up brightly. ‘My ex and his new wife playing happy families. To be.'

‘She's pregnant,' said Fiona flatly, and it wasn't a question.

‘Very much so.' Jenny stared at her teacup for a moment and then jumped up. ‘Who's for another cup? Maddie?'

Maddie shook her head. ‘No thanks, I've still got some.'

‘Then I think I'll just make a pot of tea and bring it out.'

Lyn waited for a few minutes until they could hear Jenny in the kitchen, and then leant towards Maddie. ‘Poor Jen. She always wanted kids, you see. But he didn't.'

‘She had three miscarriages with him,' added Fiona in a low, even huskier voice. ‘And the last time she was nearly five months pregnant with twins.'

‘That's not a miscarriage,' spat Lyn. ‘That's murder. Bastard. Life's not bloody fair.'

‘Another month, even a couple of weeks, and they would've probably made it.'

Fiona and Lyn went silent as Jenny came back in with a pot of tea, steam wafting gently from the spout. She put it down on the cloth-covered coffee table and then poured herself another cup. Finally she sat down and looked at them with eyes that glittered. ‘Look, I know you all want to give me sympathy but, well, please don't. I'm wishing now I hadn't mentioned it because I'm really not ready to talk about it yet. Maybe next time, okay?'

Maddie nodded along with the other two and then Fiona reached out, fleetingly, and touched Jenny on the knee. The silence stretched uncomfortably, and Maddie thought of her own two children. Anticipating some difficulties over sharing them seemed almost shallow now. She put her empty mug down on the side table and then swivelled it slightly so that the handle was lined up neatly with the angle of the tabletop. Then she looked up and straight into the gaze of Fiona, who was watching her with interest. Maddie glanced away quickly.

Lyn clapped, breaking the silence. ‘Hey, I've got a good one for us this week. Everyone listening? Well, two of my kids were bickering and one of them came up with that old line, you know: sticks and stones may break my bones, but words'll never hurt me.'

Jenny gave a brittle, eager laugh. ‘Do they
still
use that?'

‘Hmm, I've never really thought about that one.' Fiona paused. ‘Words will never hurt me. What a ridiculous saying.'

‘Exactly!' Lyn nodded her head for emphasis. ‘That's what I said! I mean, I remember using it all the time when I was a kid. I even remember my mother getting me to repeat it after her, if I was whining about something one of my brothers had said. And then I thought of you, Fiona, and your ex. Being so proud and all.'

Fiona looked at her for a few moments, as if expecting Lyn to continue. Then she turned to Maddie, almost reluctantly. ‘What Lyn means is that Peter, my ex-husband, was extremely proud of the fact he'd never hit a woman in his life. He would lecture our son about men who hit women being scum of the earth. He never saw what he did as abuse. Never.'

‘And it most certainly was,' said Jenny softly, glancing at Fiona. ‘In fact, of all the stories I heard at our group, I think Fiona's was one of the worst. Because the abuse was so deliberate, so sadistic. There was no cycle, like there was with most of us. It was just continual. Unrelenting.'

‘We had another woman who copped mostly psychological abuse as well,' added Lyn. ‘With just a little bit of physical, in her case. And she used to say that she'd try to egg the physical stuff on, just to stop the other. Because it hurt so much more.'

Jenny nodded. ‘Bruises heal eventually, but the words – they're there forever.'

‘Actually the words
are
like sticks and stones,' said Fiona quietly. ‘Sharp and spiky and painful. Like little missiles.'

Fucking bitch, pathetic, disgusting. Mother from hell. There was a tiny bead of spittle at the corner of his mouth, which thinned as his lips moved. Useless bitch. Whore.

Maddie blinked, and then looked from one woman to the other. She knew exactly what they were saying, but didn't want to join in. It was enough, perhaps even more than enough, to sit on the outside looking in. She thought of what he would say if he could see her here. Sad, sorry bunch of women. Drowning in bitterness and the inability to move on.

‘Anyway, so that was my thought for the week,' said Lyn, with an odd sense of self-satisfaction. She smiled at Maddie. ‘See, we try to come up with at least one weird saying or whatever every week. Challenge them, or just have a laugh if they're really ridiculous. Like yours the other week, Jenny? That was a great one.'

Jenny nodded. ‘It was from this old freezer book of my mother's. Written by a married couple. About beating ice or something. Apparently you shouldn't skimp on the beating, because ices, like women, dogs and walnut trees, are always improved by consistent walloping.'

Maddie stared at her. ‘Are you serious?'

‘Absolutely. I borrowed the book from Mum so I could show everyone. I mean it was a pretty old one, but still.'

‘I wonder why a walnut tree needs beating?' asked Lyn, of no one in particular.

Fiona shrugged. ‘Moving on, I'm pleased to inform you that this week I too brought along a piece for perusal.' She paused to rummage around in her handbag and then unfold a sheet of paper. ‘I'm afraid I haven't done as well as Jenny and accessed the original so this will have to do. It comes courtesy of my son's new girlfriend; it seems they were looking at the book in her university. Analysing it or something.'

As Maddie glanced around at her companions again, a little bemused by their anticipatory expressions, Fiona cleared her throat melodramatically. ‘So, from
Man's World
circa 1969, comes this priceless piece of advice: “There are men who can treat women rough, violate all the accepted codes of behaviour and – through some exceptional charm – get away with it. Be sure you're that type of man before you take the risk.”'

‘Before
you
take the risk,' repeated Jenny, with a snort of laughter.

‘Bloody hell,' Lyn shook her head.

Fiona grinned as she refolded the paper. ‘You like?'

As the three women began to discuss the quote at length, with the occasional peal of laughter, Maddie watched, feeling rather nonplussed. All day, since deciding to attend the support group, she had geared herself up towards an evening of revelations, of confessionals, of tears and trauma. Perhaps even something that began like all those television shows, with alcoholics and gamblers: ‘Hello, my name is Maddie and I am a battered woman.'

This small group, with just the three regular members, seemed to be more of a social evening; a casual get-together of women who had just one thing in common. As for the competition they seemed to have going with each other, it was bizarre. To deliberately
seek
evidence of sexism, or discrimination, or plain ignorance, and then hold it up as a source of amusement. Most disappointing, however, was the fact that clearly their experiences would have no relevance to her situation. The only one with children still at home was Lyn, and Maddie suspected strongly that their circumstances were very different. Nevertheless she didn't regret coming. Not only had it helped fill the time but it had given her something rather precious – a balmy sense of relief that, after all, she simply didn't belong.

EIGHT

T
he phone call came midmorning on Sunday. Maddie had just finished making up Sam's and Ashley's beds with clean sheets and was shoving the dirty lot into the washing machine. She'd slept badly, despite having enjoyed a very pleasant evening with Kim that didn't involve alcohol or coffee or any other stimulant that might have kept her up. Nor had the evening contained any intense discussion; instead they had chatted about almost everything else – the school fete, Kim's latest problem client, the harsh summer weather expected – every so often skimming over the surface of Maddie's situation only to glance away before the conversation could settle.

Yet still she spent much of the night staring at the fluorescent numbers on her bedside clock worrying, with handover day now looming, about how things would pan out. And every time she woke, at one o'clock, two-thirty, three-ten, four-forty, it was straight into the midst of fully formed questions. What had it been like for them with Jake's family, after six years away? Were they looking forward to coming back? Would Jake bring them all the way or would she be expected to meet him halfway, like the weekend arrangement Kim had with her ex-husband? Or would she need to drive all the way down to Melbourne? Despite only living a couple of hours away, Maddie hadn't been to Melbourne for six years and the thought of returning, after all this time, was nervously exciting. As was, bizarrely, the thought of meeting Jake again. She told herself this was in anticipation of working things out. Moving forward.

She spent the morning tidying their rooms and then making a welcome-home cake, delighting in the unfamiliar role of a Martha Stewart mum. Every so often glancing at the clock because she had decided to wait until noon, exactly, and then ring Sam herself if she hadn't heard from him. So the sudden sound of the phone ringing just after eleven brought a flutter of hollow relief.

‘Hello, Mum?'

‘Sam,' Maddie smiled the name. ‘How're things? You guys back from Yea yet?'

‘Yep, got back before.'

There was silence for a moment and then Maddie laughed, for no reason but to fill the gap. ‘So how was it? How were your grandparents? All the aunts?'

‘They're all good except for Grandad. He's dead.'

‘What?'

‘He's dead,' repeated Sam flatly. ‘He died while we were . . . gone.'

Maddie sat down on the edge of the couch. ‘Oh my god. How? When?'

‘Dunno. A heart attack, I think. About two years ago.'

‘I'm so sorry, Sam.' Maddie's eyes filmed as she thought of Jake's father, even though his genial patriarchy had always made her feel cumbersome, as if she took up too much space. A heart attack. She felt a sudden flush of guilt, as though she had personally clogged an artery.

‘Yeah, and it was real weird without him there.
Real
weird.'

‘But how's Gran then? Is she still living in that huge house?'

‘Oh, she's fine,' replied Sam offhandedly. ‘Still in the house and all. But I can tell you all that when I get back. Um. Listen, Mum?'

The guilt she was feeling was pushed aside by a sudden premonition. ‘Yes?'

‘You know how it's the school holidays now?'

‘Yes?'

‘Well, see, something's come up. Um . . .'

‘Just say it, Sam,' snapped Maddie, suspicion honing her irritation to a fine point.

‘Okay, okay.' Sam spoke as if she was overreacting already. ‘See, Dad got offered these tickets to the Gold Coast. Staying at the Seaworld Nara Resort. Seeing all the worlds. Dreamworld, Movieworld, Sea-world. There was this guy who couldn't go all of a sudden so he offered the whole thing to Dad. For a bargain.'

Maddie felt sick. ‘How long?'

‘Only eight days,' said Sam quickly. ‘We'll be back before you know it. And it'll give us more time to get to know Dad again.'