Tiddas (36 page)

‘I know.' He chuckled. ‘I know!'

As they pulled into the car park, Xanthe was parking her small white Hyundai.

‘Hey,' Nadine called out as she climbed from the car.

‘Hi there.' Xanthe was genuinely happy to see Nadine, and pleased her friend was trying her hardest to kick her habit. But she was also pleased to be sharing her passion for Bikram with her tidda – well with anyone.

By the time the class started Nadine was already sweating, her legs slippery from the moisturiser she'd put on before she left home. She'd shaved her legs for the first time in weeks and realised how dry they were. But she looked good in her shorts. A month of not drinking had been hard but she'd inadvertently lost a couple of kilos. Her body showed all the benefits of not being filled with excess sugar every day.

Nadine scanned the room and among all the women she saw only one man, shirtless with too many tattoos. The perfect place to pick up, she thought, but the crowd looked too serious for frivolities. No-one spoke other than the trainer, Paula, and no-one looked at anyone else either. Everyone faced forward to the mirrored wall, instructed to focus only on the self.

‘You can give yourself ninety minutes per day to focus on
you
, it's not selfish,' Paula said.

After the first forty minutes Nadine started to feel ill; she was dizzy, nauseous, off balance.
This can't be good
, she thought to herself. She wanted to text Richard to come and carry her out. ‘I'm going to throw up,' she said under her breath, hoping to get some sympathy from Xanthe, who was completely focused. Nadine was impressed with her tidda's capacity to switch off everything else, but the truth was Xanthe's mind was ticking over about having a baby; she had mastered the ability to do the poses
and
obsess at the same time. A true skill!

‘No-one should be talking for the ninety minutes we are here,' Paula said.

Fuck, she can hear like a dolphin . . .
Nadine didn't like being chastised either.
Doesn't she know who I am?

Nadine sat down on her mat before she collapsed. She breathed deeply, waiting until she could get up again. She searched the room for anyone else who might be struggling.

‘For the beginners, if you can't do everything, just sit in child's pose. It's okay. Remember, if you can just stay in the room for this class then you have achieved.'

Nadine was convinced the comment was directed at her. She wanted to take the teacher aside and say,
Hey, in MY world I am the best at what I do. I can do these exercises, I just feel sick!

But she knew that part of what was happening to her was that her body was going into serious detox. She was sweating out the crap she'd been ingesting for years. It was her own fault.

The lights were dimmed and the class lay on their backs doing the final breathing exercises.
Thank God!

Nadine was relieved; Xanthe was revitalised. Paula left the room and slowly they got up, put their mats over the rail and headed to the change room. Nadine couldn't believe the crimson colour of her face.

‘Jesus, my head looks like a watermelon that's about to explode.'

‘You did really well. I'm proud of you.' Xanthe put her hand on her sweaty friend's shoulder.

‘I'm proud of me too. I really enjoyed it!'

‘Well?' Richard asked nervously as his wife got in the car.

‘I finished it. That's something, isn't it?' She needed applause, affirmation of the attempt she'd made.

‘That's massive, my love.' He leant in and kissed her.

‘Oh darl, I didn't shower. You know me and public showers. Sorry, I'm smelly.'

‘Yes, but you're
my
kind of smelly.' He rubbed his wife's thigh. ‘Even if your face looks like a watermelon.'

‘Bloody hell, I just said that to Xanthe!'

Nadine was still burning up, but she was sipping the coconut water she'd grabbed at reception and was looking forward to getting home. She couldn't even imagine being able to drink a glass of wine after that class, and was grateful for that small mercy. She didn't say it out loud though. ‘I survived the class,' she said instead, ‘but I'm grateful I didn't have a heart attack, throw up
or
burst into tears.'

Richard laughed. ‘You are always so dramatic.'

‘I'm serious, I was really scared one of them might happen.'

Nadine went quiet as they continued to drive, staring out the window as Van Morrison played on the radio.

‘Everything okay over there, Nads?'

‘Just thinking.'

‘Here's trouble.'

‘The interesting thing about doing that tonight was that it really helped me to concentrate. You can't just let your mind roam in there. I was completely focused on not collapsing.'

‘You're serious, aren't you?'

‘Yes, and I'm grateful that I maintained my focus the entire time. That in itself is something I'm incredibly proud of. I have a very short attention span, as you'd know. By the way, what's for dinner?'

‘Sounds like you should be grateful to Xanthe for taking you, eh?'

‘I am, I'll send her some flowers.'

‘The celosia is in bloom right now, gorgeous colours. Red, purple, pinks, yellow, orange.' Richard knew his plants.

Nadine leaned over and kissed her husband on the cheek. ‘Then on your recommendation I'll order her some of those, or maybe a plant for her garden.'

‘Or you could come to the markets with me tomorrow,' Richard suggested, happy to find a new sense of companionship with his wife. The woman he'd married was making a return.

‘Oh,' she hesitated, not keen on the early morning trip.

‘Can I bribe you with this?' He handed her a Wagon Wheel. ‘You would've burnt off enough calories in there for ten of these. Anyway, I thought you'd need a sugar hit.'

Nadine unwrapped it and drifted back to the 1970s and her orange lunch box that was often packed with one of the chocolate biscuits filled with jam and marshmallow. She was surprised at how clear her memory was since she stopped drinking. She wondered if Xanthe was indulging in something naughty as well.

Spencer was reading the newspaper when Xanthe arrived home. ‘How was it?' he asked, feigning interest, as she walked in the living room.

‘Great!' Xanthe said, invigorated and feeling horny. It had been too many days since they made love, but she was in
the mood
and
ovulating. She'd texted him earlier that day to remind him.

‘It'd be great if you came with me one night,' Xanthe said, having one last stretch before she jumped in the shower. ‘It will increase your flexibility.'

‘I'm flexible enough,' he responded, without looking up from his newspaper.

‘It'll improve your circulation,' she added.

‘Circulation's just fine, thanks.'

‘It will reduce the stress you are constantly under, too,' she said, starting to peel off her clothes.

‘You know what will reduce my stress even more?'

‘What?' Xanthe was genuinely interested in what might help her husband feel more relaxed.

‘You not nagging me constantly about yoga and ovulation windows and babies and organic fucking everything.' Spencer had never spoken to his wife that way before and it shocked them both.

Xanthe stopped still, trying to figure out what had just happened. She looked hurt, she felt hurt. She pulled her top back on.

‘Okay,' she said, feeling ashamed that she had brought the response on herself. She walked out the door and closed it quietly behind her, tears falling by the time she got to the front gate.

Spencer grabbed his mobile, knowing immediately the damage he had done. He heard Xanthe's phone ringing. She'd left it behind on the dining table.

The tears stung Xanthe's face as she found a quiet spot under a tree at the end of the street. She didn't want to walk,
she wanted to hide and sob. It was the longest twenty-five minutes of her life, sitting there feeling lonely, sad, hurt. She hated conflict with the people she loved. And she adored Spencer. She was only now realising that the never-ending baby conversations and conception failures were taking their toll on him too.

Xanthe walked back into the house quietly. As soon as Spencer heard the door close he walked quickly towards her.

‘I'm sorry,' he said, placing his hands on the sides of her face and kissing her gently on the mouth. ‘I'm an arse sometimes.'

‘I'm sorry too.'

Veronica, Xanthe and Ellen sat on the veranda at Nadine's for their monthly book club get together. Izzy was only days away from her due date and had opted out of coming. She had emailed some of her thoughts on the book to them earlier and was now bored, having already finished up at work. She'd done a lot of sitting at home with her feet up on the coffee table and the telly on.

Xanthe had chosen this month's book, and it had affected them all. Izzy's email was used as a springboard to the conversation. Xanthe read it out.

I cried when I read this book. The story around the tragic death of Cameron Doomadgee in police custody was so disturbing,
I had nightmares. So too the history of Palm Island as a mission, or as we're told an ‘open air jail'. This is the sad reality of a forgotten Australian community, and a heart-wrenching example of the deathly flaws of the policing system not only in Queensland but nationally. It should be compulsory reading for all Australians. It really makes you worry about Blackfellas incarcerated anywhere, doesn't it?

‘Richard said that with forty different tribes sent to Palm Island it was a little like what he'd heard about Cherbourg,' Nadine added when Xanthe finished reading the email.

‘It'd be like taking people from forty different countries around the world, putting them in one place and telling them to just get along, speak the same language, form a new community. Could you imagine it happening today?'

Veronica's Reading for Reconciliation Group had also discussed the work, and she had strong views on it. ‘It should be on the national curriculum,' she insisted. ‘It considers attempts at assimilation in terms of religion and other aspects of culture.'

‘It also reveals the systematic flaws in Queensland's policing,' Xanthe added. ‘And really demonstrates the tensions between the Black and white communities. Palm Island and Queensland isn't an isolated experience, unfortunately.'

‘Shit, seeing the police protect each other like that made me really angry,' Ellen said. ‘Sad too. It made me realise just how much the cops are untouchable!' Unexpectedly, she grinned. ‘Aside from that, and no disrespect, but I saw the movie at the film festival last week and I have to say that lawyer Bo is one catch, isn't he?'

‘He's married, Ellen,' Xanthe said.

‘And he's got SIX kids!' Veronica laughed. ‘Just what
you'd
love!'

With the book talk over, the women were quieter than usual, silenced by the reality that institutional racism still rendered most Blackfellas powerless in the big scheme of things.

Nadine broke the silence. ‘Anyone want to come to Maleny with me this weekend for an event?' She had signings at local bookstores to do, and was looking forward to them for the first time in years. ‘And it's not just because I need a driver, I'd actually like to have some female company.'

Xanthe jumped at the chance to give Spencer some space, but she also wanted to support Nadine, who seemed to be putting on a good front. Or else the HRT was actually working miracles. The tiddas had been following an unwritten roster, checking in on Nadine and taking her out to various events and activities while she was detoxing. If she wanted a drink at any time, they wouldn't say she couldn't have one, but nor would they be kind or supportive. She never broke though, and every day she got stronger.

‘I'll take you,' Xanthe said. ‘And why don't we see what's standing in the way of you getting your licence back? After all, you've got a great car to be driving.'