The Mothers' Group (18 page)

‘Freya,' she reminded him. ‘Her name's Freya.'

‘The Scandinavian goddess of love,' he said. ‘My goodness, you're interesting.'

She sat, dumbfounded, as he strode out of the café.

Having dinner with Bill at the exclusive Saltfish restaurant was the stuff of Suzie's dreams. He reserved the premier table, with a waterfront view. They shared a seafood platter and expensive wine, while he recounted entertaining stories of the cities he frequented for work: Beijing, Shanghai, London, Mumbai. Suzie had never been overseas in her life. She sat riveted, hardly daring to interrupt. They held hands over dessert and Bill spooned chocolate mousse into her mouth, lingering playfully at her lips.

He dropped her back to her apartment in Dee Why and walked her to the door.

‘Lovely Suzie,' he said, before leaning in and gently pressing his lips against hers.

The kiss left her wanting more.

‘Can I book you for a massage in a couple of weeks, when I'm back from Tokyo?'

She didn't want to wait that long.

‘Yes,' she said. ‘I'd love to.'

It pained her to do it, but when the time came, she called on Monika. As she dialled the number, she consciously attempted to relax.
Breathe in,
breathe out.

‘Hello?'

Even the sound of Monika's voice, the slightly caustic tone, made Suzie recoil. In better times, she and Nils had always laughed about Monika. How it had been a great cosmic joke that Monika—who was as uptight as a spring-loaded coil—had given birth to a son like Nils, so laidback and uninhibited.

‘Hello, Monika, it's Suzie.'

The silence spoke volumes.

‘How are you?' Suzie asked, adopting a bright tone.

‘How's Freya?' asked Monika, ignoring the question.

‘Fine, thanks. Great. That's why I'm calling, actually. I was hoping . . .'

‘It's been so long,' interjected Monika. ‘Weeks.'

‘Yes, I know, I'm sorry,' Suzie said. ‘I've been busy.'

Suzie resisted the urge to point out that Monika could have picked up the telephone and called
her
. It had always been like this, even before Freya came along. The onus had always been on Nils and Suzie to get in touch with Monika, never the other way around. And if they left it too long, Monika invariably let them know how slighted she felt.

‘Monika, I wondered if you might be able to help me.' She grimaced as she said the words. ‘I want to start up my massage business again. It's hard surviving on government benefits.'

She wasn't lying. The paltry sum offered to single parents hardly covered her living expenses. With Nils now conveniently embracing agrarian socialism at the commune, he claimed he had no money to contribute for Freya's upkeep. Desperate, she'd sought some advice from the local legal aid centre. The supposedly mandatory child support payments didn't apply in his case, and couldn't be enforced.

‘Anyway . . .' She interpreted Monika's silence as licence to proceed. ‘I was hoping to start practising two nights a week, not too much. Now that Freya's sleeping through. I wondered if you might have her overnight on Tuesdays and Thursdays?'

Monika made a snorting noise. An expression of surprise or outrage, Suzie couldn't be sure.

‘Of course,' said Monika.

Suzie blinked, awaiting the caveat. Monika said nothing.

‘Well, thanks, Monika. I don't suppose we could start next Tuesday?'

She held her breath.

‘Of course,' Monika repeated.

Suzie couldn't believe her luck.

‘Okay. I'll pack everything in advance. Some frozen breast milk just in case, a change of clothes, the port-a-cot and sheets. I'll drop her over at six o'clock, after she's had her bath and dinner. She shouldn't give you any trouble. And I can pick her up in the morning before you go to work.' Monika was a driving instructor. It was something else that Suzie and Nils had laughed about privately, imagining her haranguing hapless teens behind the wheel.

‘Good. That will be . . . nice. Thank you, Suzie.'

Suzie was floored. ‘Well, thank
you
, Monika. See you then.'

She put down the phone and shook her head. Getting Monika to say yes to something had never been so easy.

The following Tuesday at six o'clock, she dropped Freya off at Monika's home, fighting the urge to linger. Everything will be alright, she reminded herself; Monika thinks of everything. But just the act of passing Freya into Monika's arms, knowing she wouldn't see her daughter again for twelve hours, was disconcerting. It was the first time she'd ever left Freya with anyone else overnight. And with
Monika
of all people—a woman she'd never warmed to, even when everything had been working out with Nils. If only her own parents didn't live a thousand kilometres away.

Bill had better be worth it, she thought.

When she opened the door at eight o'clock, she knew instantly that he was. He leaned casually in the doorframe, a bottle of wine in one hand and a bunch of pink roses in the other. He held out both.

‘Your other clients didn't come bearing gifts, I hope.'

She smiled. He smelled freshly washed, his aftershave a heady combination of musk and sandalwood. He clearly hadn't come straight from work, as he'd said he would.

‘I stopped off for a gym session,' he explained. ‘A boxing class.' It was easy to imagine him pummelling a speedball.

‘No wonder you have neck and shoulder tension,' she admonished.

He looked her up and down. ‘You're beautiful.'

Her stomach churned with delicious anxiety.

After dropping Freya at Monika's, she'd hurried home to soak in a lemongrass bath. Then she'd rubbed almond oil all over her body before donning a figure-hugging purple dress. She'd left her face makeup-free, brushing a touch of gloss on her lips and letting her blonde curls tumble across her shoulders.

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘Come in.'

She'd prepared meticulously for this moment. The massage bed was positioned in the centre of the darkened lounge room, where the coffee table usually stood. It had taken some effort to heave the coffee table into Freya's room without any help, but she'd managed it. If nothing else, single motherhood had taught her self-sufficiency. Three towels were strung across a large oil heater. On a small table next to the massage bed, tea lights floated in a glass bowl filled with frangipanis she'd collected from the next-door neighbour's front yard. The aroma of ylang ylang and orange blossom hung in the air, complementing a recording of Indian sitar playing at low volume. A large bottle of avocado oil stood in a flask of hot water.

‘Welcome,' she said.

Without a word, he began to unbutton his shirt. She turned towards the kitchen; protocol would deem she leave the room.

‘Don't go.'

She stood, transfixed, as he stripped down to a pair of black boxer shorts. She instantly imagined wrapping her legs around him.

He smiled at her in the half-light, shadows flickering across his bare chest. ‘Face up, or face down?'

‘Down,' she said, swallowing hard.

I'm going to have sex tonight, she thought.

It had been more than nine months since she'd had sex and more than a year since she'd enjoyed it. In the final few months of her relationship with Nils, sex had become laborious. In fact, sex had always been disappointing with Nils. It had all seemed so promising in the beginning; he was an attractive yoga instructor with an interest in tantra. But in his dogged pursuit of cosmic sexual power—
kundalini
, he called it—Nils couldn't even get the basics right. He'd touched her like a housewife following a recipe; methodically, reading aloud, always double-checking the ingredients. His endless questioning during lovemaking left her cold. She didn't want to have to explain what she wanted, or direct his fingers to the right place. For someone so in touch with his feminine side, Nils had roundly neglected hers. By contrast, Bill oozed a primitive sexual confidence. He was the archetypal alpha male.

He lowered himself face down onto the massage bed. She pressed a warm towel along the length of his back, brushing over his buttocks and applying another towel along his legs. She held the soles of his feet in her palms for a moment, steadying her breathing. She attempted to centre herself in the way she usually did before giving a massage, imagining a beam of white light spearing down from the sky, cleansing her body and spirit. Then she visualised a long, thick rope tied around her waist, plunging down into the centre of the earth, anchoring her to its hot core. Warmth spread through her body. She opened her eyes and looked at Bill, lying prone before her.

She was ready.

Afterwards, she lay on the couch with her back against him, her body pulsating. Behind her, she felt him prop himself up on one elbow and snake his other arm around her waist.

‘Here,' he said. His hand hovered in front of her lips, thumb and forefinger pinched together.

‘What?'

‘Gotta have a smoke after sex.' He drew his fingers to his lips and puffed on an imaginary cigarette. ‘You try it.' He thrust his hand towards her.

She smiled. ‘Um, okay.'

She pretended to take it from his fingers, then sucked noisily. ‘Wow, great shit.'

He laughed aloud then rolled onto her, pinning her shoulders to the couch. His face hung centimetres above hers.

‘That was a princely fuck. I feel like a king.'

She giggled. No one had ever spoken to her like that. It felt good. She remembered how sex with Nils had usually ended: with the noisy groaning of his premature ejaculation, followed by an interrogation as to whether she'd had an orgasm. Or not.

Bill didn't need to ask. Her climax had been volcanic—both of them.

He sat up and swung his legs to the floor. ‘That was a good massage, too. I'll recommend you to my friends. On the proviso that you don't fuck any of them. I want you all to myself.'

He pulled on his boxers and zipped up his trousers. As he buckled his belt, his BlackBerry fell out of his pocket. He picked it up and glanced at the screen.

‘Damn,' he said. ‘We'll have to leave dinner for another time. I've got some work to do.'

‘At nine thirty at night?' She'd prepared a green bean and papaya salad before he'd arrived.

‘Yes, it's standard for me. Access all hours.'

He buttoned his shirt at the wrists and raked his fingers through his hair. He fished around in his back pocket and pulled out his car keys and wallet. Opening it, he counted out six fifty-dollar notes and placed them on the massage bed.

‘Thanks for the massage, my shoulders feel much better.'

She stared at the notes; three hundred dollars was three times what she would ordinarily charge.

‘I'm not a prostitute.'

‘What?'

She looked away.

‘What do you take me for, Suzie?' he demanded. ‘Come here.'

She edged towards him, slightly fearful of his tone.

He reached over and pulled her to stand in front of him, grasping her shoulders with his enormous hands. ‘Don't
ever
say that again.' His anger made him seem taller. ‘You are a beautiful woman, and an excellent masseuse. I am paying you for that massage.'

He picked up the notes and folded them into her right hand, then ran his hands down both sides of her face. ‘So beautiful,' he said. ‘I'm a lucky man.'

He leaned forward and kissed her, his tongue probing hers.

‘Repeat after me: the fuck was free.'

‘Yes,' she breathed. ‘It was.'

As she drove over to collect Freya the next morning, she could hardly focus on the road ahead. She hummed to herself, basking in the sensual wonder of the night before. Bill had worshipped at the temple of her body, his lips and hands prising open its secrets. She'd never felt so feminine.

Monika opened the door with a flourish, before Suzie had even knocked.

‘Hello, Suzie!' She was uncharacteristically exuberant.

The image of Bill evaporated.

‘Hi, Monika. How's Freya?'

‘Good, good.' Monika's tone was businesslike. ‘She's just watching a
Play School
DVD.'

‘Oh.' Suzie took a deep breath. How many times had she told Monika that she didn't believe in exposing children under the age of three to television? And how many times had Monika nodded, as if she understood?

She followed Monika down the hallway.

‘She only woke up twice in the night for a feed,' said Monika.

Only twice? For a
feed
? Suzie said nothing. For more than a month, Freya had been sleeping through until five-thirty in the morning. She'd only packed the frozen breast milk as an emergency measure.

She entered the lounge room. Freya was propped up on a large cushion in front of the television. The curtains were drawn and the light from the screen flickered across her face.

Suzie walked to the window and threw open the curtains. Sunlight streamed into the room.

‘Hello, sweetie, how are you?'

She walked over to the television and turned it off, then crouched down next to Freya.

‘Oh my God.'

She lifted Freya up, staring at her head, then rounded on Monika.

‘You cut her hair.'

‘Just a little.'

‘Just a
little
?' Suzie's voice trembled.

‘It was flopping in her eyes.'

Suzie scooped Freya off the cushion. ‘I didn't
want
her hair cut,' she said. ‘It wasn't that long. And it's
my
job to do it.'

She began to stride from room to room, gathering up Freya's things. When Nils had walked out, Suzie had resigned herself to the fact that Freya would be the only child she'd ever have. She didn't need Monika robbing her of precious first experiences that couldn't be repeated.

In the kitchen, she retrieved the empty bottle and teat from the sink. As she stuffed them into a plastic bag, she noticed a tin of infant formula on the bench top. She stared at it, then wrenched opened the freezer door. Her two sachets of carefully expressed breast milk were still frozen, sitting upright next to the fish fingers.