Tiddas (19 page)

‘When are you due?' Trish asked.

‘But, how did you know?' Izzy was shocked, confused.

‘A mother knows these things, daught.' She took another sip of her tea. ‘You can't hide being pregnant from your own mother.'

Izzy started to cry. Not because her mother was angry, she wasn't, but because she was closer to her mum than she realised.

‘I can see that glow only pregnant women get. You're actually a bit shiny.'

Izzy had noticed the change in her skin in recent weeks also and bought some oil-free cleanser just a few days before.

‘I'm due . . .' Izzy couldn't bring herself to tell her mother she was struggling with the prospect of motherhood.

‘What's wrong, daught? What's wrong with you?'

Izzy shook her head and blew her nose into a ratty tissue she dragged from the bottom of her handbag.

‘Izzy, you're nearly forty. I'm not going to tell you what to think, but you can do anything you choose to set your mind to. Trust me, though, when I say that you will
never
regret having children. You can do without a husband, men are nothing but trouble anyway, except for Richard who is perfect and too good for her, but that's another story.'

‘What about my career?' Izzy sniffled.

‘You've already
had
a career, you can still have a career in the future. But we are the women, daught, we are the matriarchs, we need to keep the family growing.'

‘I can't do it by myself,' Izzy blew hard again.

‘What's the father say?'

Izzy thought it odd her mother didn't ask who the father was.

‘I haven't told him yet.'

‘You
must
tell him, Isobel, and soon. This is part of
his
story too, his life, his future.'

This was a directive, not a suggestion, and Izzy knew it.

Izzy hadn't thought about it that way before. It had only ever been about her,
her
life,
her
future and the impact the baby would have on
her
own career plans. It was already impacting on her body, as her clothes were tighter and her breasts fuller.

‘Is this fella going to run away?'

Izzy could tell her mother was being restrained. A Christian she may be, but that didn't mean she wasn't capable of bitching with the best of them, especially where her children were concerned.

‘I don't know.'

And it was the truth. Izzy had no idea how Asher would react, but if his reaction was anything like hers, then he'd be confused and think immediately about himself and his future career.

Trish put her hand on top of her daughter's. ‘I love you, you are my blood. We are strong Wiradjuri women and no matter what happens, I will support you all the way.' She reached down beside her chair and lifted up her knitting basket. ‘Your cousin Tarsha is pregnant too. She asked me to make some booties for her. It's a girl,' she said, without taking her eyes off the needles. ‘He's a nice fella, brickie,
honest as the day is long. Kind of like that Jack you should've married.'

‘Mum! Please don't.'

Izzy didn't want to go into the history of not marrying the ‘perfect man' in her twenties. But she remembered how happy her mum was when they got engaged. Izzy had been happy too, or so she thought. It was the longest engagement in Mudgee's history and everyone joked about it, but Izzy just couldn't go through with marrying someone who had no ambition. Jack was a good man, hardworking, caring and gentle. He loved his job at the abattoir and she was glad her man was cheery of a night. But he never wanted to leave Mudgee; he didn't want to travel, not even to Sydney. All he talked about was settling down, having children and growing old in rocking chairs together. The abattoir had closed, but Jack still stayed put. If he made her feel old when she was only twenty-two, how would she feel at thirty with three kids? She just couldn't do it.

She poured another cup of tea. The crocheted tea cosy on the pot was one that Aunty Molly – one of Trish's best friends – had given her mum last Christmas.

‘Well, what's this fella up in Brisbane like then? At least tell me he's Black!'

It was ladies night at Sajo's but none of the girls were interested in the $10 cocktails. Ellen felt completely drained,
Izzy was dizzy from the conversation with her mother, Xanthe was trying to take on board the words of her Noon, and Veronica was frightened that if she had anything to drink she would sink back into sadness again. No-one had heard from Nadine.

‘Where did you end up today?' Xanthe asked Veronica. ‘I looked for you but couldn't see you anywhere.'

Veronica was not going to tell them about her bath of tears. Instead, she popped a paper bag on the table with a heap of local produce to distribute. ‘Oh, I got overwhelmed with all the noise and people so went for a stroll and stopped at the tourism office.' She started unpacking the items: wild lime marmalade, lilli pilli jam, dreaming green tea and wild rosella tea. ‘There's a new Indigenous business in town called IndigiEarth, so grab what you like.'

With the relief of having at last talked to her mum, Izzy had found a new, heartier appetite and even though she'd eaten toast only an hour before, she had her eye on the chocolate fondant dessert even as she devoured the seared kangaroo on the menu. ‘I guess this is what the old women would've been eating when they were pregnant way back when, eh?' she said, taking another bite. ‘But perhaps without the snow peas,' she joked, realising she'd mentioned the pregnancy without being questioned. Her tiddas looked at each other but didn't say a word, waiting to see if Izzy followed through. She didn't.

‘How did it end up with Nadine?' Veronica ventured, concerned but cautious not to gossip about their tidda.

‘She's not in a good way. I left them all at the hotel. Mum was furious, but calm by the time I got home.'

‘And?' Ellen asked impatiently, knowing that her tidda was going to talk to her mum about the pregnancy.

‘I told her,' Izzy sighed. ‘And she was fine, surprisingly. Reckoned she knew the minute she saw me. She thinks I'll be fine as a mum, but I'm not so sure.'

Ellen, Veronica and Xanthe exchanged looks, smiling.

‘Of course you'll be fine. Mums know that stuff,' said Ellen.

‘But Rory was an arse about whether or not Asher was a Blackfella,' Izzy said. ‘I've got no time for mob calling people shit-skin or coconut. Really, haven't we moved past that yet?'

‘It's the power of Western language once used against us, now used
by
us,' Xanthe said. ‘I've had it all my life, what with Dad being Greek. I'm bicultural – I do roo souvlaki. Dad calls it roovlaki.' She was joking, and smiling, which came as a welcome change to the others. ‘But I'm a Blackfella. How could I not be, born here on country, only knowing the stories from this place? Maybe if I were born in Greece it would be different, maybe I'd feel more Greek. As far as I'm concerned, the only person who has the right to question me is Dad. And you know what? He never does.'

M
udgee was blessed with another blue-skied winter day, with some frost on the grass in the early morning. All the tiddas were doing their own thing. Ellen woke at dawn after a solid sleep, but she needed a good stretch. She had missed two days of running, so took herself down to the Cudgegong River at Lawson Park. It was a picture of peacefulness, other than the noise of the crows flying low above her. She imagined her late Aunty and her Uncle Ron on their morning walks there. How he would miss them now.

As she ran the path through the lush, manicured landscape, she saw only three other people: a woman on a yoga mat, a man jogging and a woman with a beagle on a leash. Since the last time she'd visited, flash exercise equipment had been installed along the path so she was able to do some leg lifts, lateral raises and chin ups between sprints. She warmed up quickly, peeling off the pink fleece top she'd packed for
the cold. There was a tidy kids' playground but no kids. She smiled when she saw the hollowed trees she used to play hide and seek in as a child.

She stopped and photographed the memorial to William Lawson. The plate read:

To commemorate the achievements of Lieut William Lawson who was the first to traverse the site of Mudgee . . .

‘Really?' Ellen said out loud to no-one. She planned on mentioning it to the girls, aiming to find out what memorials there were around town to mark the history of the local mob.

Veronica was awake at the same time, but went in search of coffee and breakfast rather than exercise. At 7 a.m. there were few bodies on the streets but lots of cars; she imagined they were shift workers, many from the local coalmines. She saw a dog tied to the back tray of a ute outside the news-agency, and couldn't remember ever seeing that at home at The Gap. The dog's owner returned wearing a bright fluorescent vest. She'd noticed a number of high-visibility vests in fluoro yellow and orange the day before but didn't know where those men worked. It was common knowledge that the mining companies wanted to fly below the radar and not attract any more attention than they already did. Thus, it was policy that staff had to change into civvies before going into town.

Veronica had been feeling nauseous about seeing her in-laws later that morning and as she entered the Butcher Shop Café she was contemplating cancelling. It was still her
favourite place for breakfast. The red painted cement floor, the huge red letters reading BUTCHERY across the glossy white tiled wall and the French-inspired posters somehow comforted her. A cheeky barista and coffee delivered at record speed reminded her of what she loved about country hospitality. She chose a table in the corner and considered the eclectic mix of furniture: two mint-green laminate tables, one sky blue, the rest different variations of wood, except for hers, which had a tropical-looking top; it reminded her of the last family trip they'd taken to the Gold Coast, and her heart sank again.

As her poached eggs and second cappuccino arrived, Veronica decided she didn't want to see her in-laws; she contemplated texting them, but couldn't think of a lie that would sound like truth. She half-hoped, half-expected them not to show anyway. Life would be easier for her if they didn't and yet she didn't feel she would emotionally cope with another rejection. When Rita and Bob walked in smiling, she felt some sense of relief; maybe it would be okay. But that moment was short-lived, the exchanges were awkward, like those between strangers, air-kisses instead of full-blown hugs. They asked about their grandsons' wellbeing but didn't enquire about her own. There was no warmth, and no interest in what their former daughter-in-law was feeling or doing now. Veronica mentally beat herself up for even calling them and making the effort to see them in the first place. Why did she bother, when this is what it had come to? Loyalty to blood always won out over anything else. Veronica hoped she would not behave the same with her own boys' girlfriends or
wives in the future. Rita and Bob each sipped a coffee while Veronica continued to eat. She needed the sustenance to get through the next few hours, which were to be spent being driven to a new winery the pair had just invested in. It was something they could leave to their grandsons.

At Uncle Ron's mid-morning there were dozens of family members from across the state still paying their respects. The aunties were drinking tea in the kitchen and the men were outside in the garden. Ellen saw her mother and her siblings in a different light. She had missed them and she finally had the chance to grieve for her aunt.

‘You were your Aunt's favourite niece,' Uncle Ron had whispered to her as she washed what seemed to be an endless stream of teacups. ‘But you're not supposed to have favourites so don't say that to anyone, bub, okay?' Uncle Ron rolled a cigarette.

‘Okay.' Ellen was lost for words, grateful just for a few minutes alone with her Uncle before he was gone again, sitting outside with the other men, smoking, yarning, laughing about old times.

Xanthe woke early and called Spencer. The conversation was warm and loving, both having missed each other on many levels in recent weeks. Neither mentioned anything about babies or pregnancy. They talked about the funeral, about Xanthe's family, about how much Mudgee had changed since she'd last visited, how much she wanted them to visit there together sometime soon.

‘I miss you, darling,' Spencer said down the line, melting her.

She looked forward to making love to her husband when she got home. In the meantime, she would take herself off to the Mudgee Yoga Centre to stretch her limbs and clear her mind.

It was late when Nadine woke and though she felt contrite for those actions she could remember, it didn't matter. Richard and the kids had already left for the day, and all she had was a hastily scrawled note from Cam: