Tiddas (37 page)

The following weekend three of the tiddas made the trek up the Bruce Highway to Maleny for a weekend away. Nadine's
signing at Rosetta Books followed closely after an appearance by Tom Keneally and she hoped the locals would still be in a literary mood. Xanthe looked forward to all the organic produce she could buy. Ellen had decided to go as well. She was upset about Craig but hadn't mentioned anything about it to her tiddas. She wanted to get away, to not risk seeing him running near Kangaroo Point. And maybe, she thought to herself, she might just get laid in Maleny as well.

As they hit the rural area Nadine was quiet. She was finding the aftermath of detox difficult and there was always an urge to drink. She could still find a reason at any time of day; the cravings hadn't disappeared, not yet. She wondered if they ever would. She hoped she wouldn't be tempted this weekend. She was on the mailing list for Maleny Mountain Wines, and shouldn't be. She hoped they wouldn't go anywhere near booze, but that was a ridiculous dream; she could smell a good tipple from fifty paces.

On the Saturday night they strolled to the Film Society screening at the Community Centre.

‘I'm joining up,' Nadine said, pulling out her credit card.

‘You don't have to join, you might never come back here.' Xanthe tried to stop her.

‘Then I'll just support it. Do you know how much money I'm saving by not drinking?' Her attempted joke went down like a lead balloon. Nadine's drinking hadn't been a joke to any of the others who had borne the brunt of her bad behaviour in recent years.

‘As if she needs to worry about saving,' Ellen whispered to Xanthe.

‘Let her go. She needs to do something with that credit card now she's not getting cases of wine delivered to Brookfield.'

The woman handing over the membership form said with a smile, ‘Aren't you the author, Nadine – ?'

Nadine didn't let her finish before she responded with ‘Yes, yes I am.' Nadine couldn't feign humility. Sober, she didn't mind being celebrity-spotted on occasion, even if she preferred to be left alone back home. She was less annoyed of late also by those wanting autographs and asking about certain characters and storylines. It seemed that sober equalled more tolerant.

‘I'll grab a table,' Xanthe said, heading towards the front of the hall.

‘I'll get in the queue for dinner,' Ellen said, heading to her right and joining the other locals trying to decide on one of the three options on the board.

Xanthe grabbed three RESERVED signs from the table and went to find some seats to hold until they'd eaten and the movie started.

Ellen stayed with Nadine even though she was in the safety of the hall.

‘Oh,' Nadine said, as she turned towards the food counter.

‘Oh,' Ellen echoed, as she looked at the wine bottles lined up on the bistro counter. Seven dollars a glass or twenty for the bottle.

‘Come on, you'll be right, we'll get extra dessert to compensate.'

Nadine didn't say anything. She focused on the list of options for dinner: veal, chicken and a mushroom turnover.

‘I'll have the vegie option please, Ellen,' she said, offering her a fifty-dollar note.

While they ate dinner the women dissected their surroundings: the ageing demographics, the old hall, the bargain meal, the quality of the food, what the film might be like. Every few minutes Ellen would check her phone to see if Craig had called or texted; nothing. She had mixed feelings; she didn't want to speak to him but she wanted to know he missed her.

They had gone to see
Mozart's Sister
but
Love Crimes
was being shown instead. No-one cared. It was a novelty to be in a community hall run by volunteers and they were even quite taken by the wooden seats. None of them had seen anything like it before.

‘Slightly different to going to the movies at The Barracks,' Xanthe smiled, as she put a forkful of local vegies in her mouth.

‘I should start something like this in Brookfield,' Nadine said. ‘Much better than just happy hour, don't you think?' She knew she would benefit from a new project; she needed to keep busy, focused on anything other than the next drink.

‘Anyone for some homemade slice?' Xanthe offered.

‘God, I love this. It even makes me want to bake! I can't remember the last time I made a cake for the kids.' Nadine was serious; she really couldn't remember any baking she'd done at Brookfield.

‘Did anyone get the quillow out of the boot?' Xanthe asked.

‘The what?' Ellen shook her head, perplexed.

‘The quillow. It's a quilt that can turn into a pillow.'

Ellen nearly fell off her chair laughing. ‘Sounds ugly!'

‘It's practical,' Xanthe said defensively, knowing it was in fact dead ugly.

‘Where did you buy it?' Nadine had no intention of getting one, but feigned interest.

‘I didn't. Spencer's mum gave it to me. One of those gifts that tells you you're not the one she wanted her son to marry.'

‘What?' Ellen didn't know what she was talking about.

‘At Christmas time, we all received gifts in the post. The other daughter-in-laws got gorgeous quilts in their favourite colours. I got this quillow thing. But Spencer loves it. He packed it for me to bring up here.'

On the Sunday morning the tiddas toured the centre of Maleny again. They roamed the markets in the RSL, picking up and putting down old LP records, deciding against the cards and paper made from elephant poo. They all bought some Fair Trade coffee.

They roamed through the little town's galleries, checking out the work of local artists. Veronica could almost see her own work hanging in a gallery one day. They had breakfast at the UpFront Club, and watched the locals going about a normal day.

‘Jesus, another cooperative! This mob is more community minded than Blackfellas,' Ellen said. ‘Oh my God, you should see their IGA! It shits on anything near me.' She was carrying two bags. ‘I've got locally produced honey, mango, apple and pumpkin chutney, and sweet chilli and ginger sauce. I don't know what the fuck I'm going to cook, but this place is unreal.'

Nadine grabbed every brochure possible on cooking classes, the local dairies, retreats and real estate. She grabbed a copy of the
Co-op News
as she walked into the Maple Street Co-op; she picked up a basket and proceeded to fill it with nettle tea, spirulina and wheatgrass.

‘Time for a spring clean, eh?' Xanthe peered into the basket, smiling.

‘Way past time, tidda,' Nadine said. ‘I'm considering becoming a sproutarian.'

‘A what?' Even Xanthe hadn't heard of that one.

‘Someone who eats predominantly sprouts. Or maybe a fruitarian.' Nadine held a sweet smelling mango in her hands.

‘Nadine, you don't have to go from one extreme to another; you just need to not drink booze.'

‘I can't just do that. It's not me. I need to make dramatic changes, that's who I am. That's why I am an artist, a writer.'

‘I
t's happening!' Izzy screamed from the bathroom, her words echoing along the concrete landing so that all the neighbours could hear. Asher came flying in from the balcony, where he'd been tending to the herb garden he was growing in pots.

‘Asher!' she screamed more loudly.

‘I'm here,' he said, sounding worried for the first time since she'd told him she was pregnant.

Izzy stood in a small puddle. ‘I heard a pop and then this,' she said, flustered, looking at the ground and breathing heavily.

‘It's okay,' he said, handing her a towel. ‘Let's just get you tidied up a little and we'll be on our way.'

Izzy couldn't believe how calm Asher was. He'd made her pack her bag weeks before, and had mapped out the route to the hospital exactly; 3.2 kilometres, door to door.

Within twenty minutes they were there, Asher doing the paperwork and Izzy texting the girls, Richard and her brothers in Mudgee. Her mother hadn't mastered the iPhone the siblings had kicked in for yet, so she relied on verbal messages to be passed on.

This is really happening
, Izzy thought to herself, mentally going back over the past few months and suddenly hit by the realisation that her life was about to change forever. She tried not to think of the nightmare stories she'd read online or about what other women had told her about labour. Then she felt her first contraction; it was like the most severe period pain she'd ever had. And then it continued, for nine hours, Asher by her side the entire time, and the doctors and nurses checking on her constantly.

‘What a great choice,' Veronica said, never having been to Garuva before. ‘This is
not
the Valley I think of, even if we are sitting on cushions.'

‘It's kind of good Izzy isn't here, there's no way she would be able to sit on the floor,' Ellen said.

‘Any word from Asher yet?' Nadine asked.

They all checked their phones. Nothing.

‘This is
très chic
,' Xanthe said, having started French lessons in preparation for her upcoming trip to New Caledonia. She and Spencer had decided they both needed a proper break; somewhere tropical, somewhere peaceful, somewhere romantic.

‘Can we sit on a high stool at one of the barrels while we wait, please?' Veronica asked gingerly. ‘Not to be a party pooper but I've got a tight skirt on.' One result of her makeover was a black, high-waisted skirt and purple silk top. She looked steaming hot in the outfit, but it was not comfortable enough to sit in crossed-legged on the floor, and certainly not in public. At least behind the curtains of their dining table she'd be able to retain some sense of modesty.

‘Cocktails?' Ellen asked.

‘Or mocktails?' Xanthe added, thinking of Nadine.

Nadine hesitated. ‘You can all have cocktails. I don't care who drinks as long as it's not
me
.'

There was a tone of frustration in her voice which prompted Xanthe to respond cheerily. ‘I plan on eating
a lot
tonight, so I can do without the alcohol and make up for the calories with food!'

As the women settled at the bar and waited to be seated, a group of younger women in short, strapless dresses and four-inch heels came in. One wore a short tulle veil.

‘Oh God, they still have hen's nights in the city?' Nadine rolled her eyes. ‘I thought they stopped years ago.'

‘Not like
your
hen's night in Mudgee, eh tidda,' Ellen said.

‘
Please
don't remind me what happened. Richard still brings up the fact that the cops dropped me home wearing red fluffy handcuffs. Who's bloody idea was that?'

‘I'm going to tell her not to do it,' Veronica said, pretending to walk over to the bride-to-be.

Xanthe pulled her friend back gently. ‘You can't do that.'

‘That's right. She has to learn the hard way, like the rest of us!' Nadine joked.

A thin waitress in tight pants and strappy black top came to escort the women to their table. The harem-like room was surrounded by a thick organza curtain on all sides.

‘Shit!' Veronica said, trying a range of positions in her tight skirt. ‘I really wasn't meant to wear clothes like this.'

‘Don't be silly, just hoik it up. No-one can see,' Ellen encouraged her friend.

And so Vee did, feeling momentarily like mutton dressed as lamb.

As they pored over the menu each declared their chosen dish. ‘I'll have the Turkish octopus,' Xanthe got in first.

‘If everyone's happy, I'll take the barbecued fish,' Veronica said.

‘I can't pronounce it but I like the sound of that beef dish,' Ellen said, pointing to a name that none of them could say.

Nadine was silent. She felt agitated; she desperately wanted a cocktail or a glass of wine or even a shot of something in a small glass. She could hear other guests nearby having a great time, and she wanted that fun feeling too. She missed it. She needed it. She excused herself, saying she was going to the bathroom, and headed straight for the bar where they started the night. She ordered a vodka tonic, knowing it was quicker to make than a cocktail and wouldn't be detected on her breath.