Tiddas (40 page)

Izzy arrived and appeared rushed, annoyed with Asher after a fight back at home; he couldn't understand why she had to be there for Veronica when Bila was due for a feed. He accused her of caring more about her tiddas than her daughter and him, their family. Izzy didn't have time to explain the meaning of sistahood to him, and although she wasn't back at work yet she had organised a crew to cover the event, not only to support the local artists and her tidda in particular, but also the organisation. She would only be gone an hour, she promised Asher, and Bila would be sleeping the whole time. She was feeling a new level of pressure at home that she hadn't planned on, but she'd deal with it when she got back to West End.

Xanthe and Spencer arrived holding hands, the perpetual teenage romantics. Since falling pregnant in New Caledonia the pair had been virtually inseparable as they prepared for parenthood. Xanthe had given new meaning to the term ‘expectant mother' and no-one was happier for her than her tiddas. Xanthe and Spencer stayed for the official side of things then left quietly as Xanthe felt unwell and just wanted to go home and lie down.

As the speeches began, Ellen raced in, panting. She'd had a service at 4 p.m. at Tweed Heads and by the time she got
away and back up the highway she had to head straight to the event. She stood with Nadine who was sober and admiring the artwork of all exhibitors with a new, clearer eye. She had already placed a few red dots next to works she liked and, unlike the arguing pair of old, she and Ellen spent most of the evening together – except when Ellen took the opportunity to shamelessly flirt with a young art student who had clearly taken a shine to her.

The next day Cam and Brit had never been more excited about going to school. They were up and dressed without any prompting at all. It was ‘come as your favourite character' and their mother was going to be the guest speaker on books and writing at the school assembly. Nadine had never known what impact a parent going to school events had on kids, her kids. Their enthusiasm quickly infected her and she felt excited with them, for them. But she was also incredibly nervous. She'd not done anything at school for years and she was still battling with speaking in public sober. But Richard was ever the staunch supporter.

‘They're kids, Nads. Anything you say will be exciting because you're famous. They mightn't have read your books, but you can be assured they know the TV series.'

Nadine only felt a little consoled.

‘Mum,' Brit said in the car on the way to school. ‘I already know what my friends are going to ask you.'

Nadine was surprised. ‘Really?'

‘Yes,' Brit nodded from the back seat.

‘Well, are you going to give me some clues?' Nadine was happy for any assistance she could get.

‘They want to know what your all time bestest, most favourite book is,' Brit said, much to Nadine's relief. ‘And do you have to commit a crime to be able to write a crime novel?'

Ellen woke up to find a young art student in ripped jeans sitting on her couch. No shirt, no shoes, no hair on his chest at all. She smiled at him and he stood up, undoing the button on his pants, dropping them to the floor when he reached the bed. It hadn't worked out with Craig but this fella wasn't a rebound. Ellen wasn't bitter or angry or disappointed. She was happy that she'd had three months with Craig, and that she had allowed herself to open her heart and her mind to a man and to a relationship. She and Craig were simply not suited.

Ellen now believed that at least she
could
have a long-term committed relationship with someone; she just had to find the right person. She knew it was possible, she had faith that it would happen; but it wasn't going to happen by itself. She needed to be out there among it, she needed to ‘interview' and ‘shortlist' prospective partners, and that's exactly what she was doing with the emerging artist she'd met at Veronica's exhibition. When he emerged from between her legs, she'd be
making plans to see him again, determined to find out what more they had in common.

‘NOOOOOOO!' Xanthe's wail was piercing.

Spencer dropped his steaming coffee cup into the kitchen sink. By the time he got to the bathroom his wife was sitting on the toilet, hunched over and sobbing. He'd never seen her so distressed.

‘No, no, no, no, no,' she kept repeating over and over again.

Spencer knelt on the floor in front of her, placing his hands on the sides of her face, which was resting in her palms, her elbows on her knees. He didn't know what to say. For all of his sensitivity, he wasn't unlike other men who were helpless in such emotional moments. But he too was suffering at what he quickly realised was a miscarriage.

‘It's not fair,' Xanthe sobbed helplessly. ‘It's just not fair.'

‘Shh. I know, princess, I know.'

Xanthe looked up, her heart full of melancholy, her eyes swollen and full of tears, her face full of disappointment.

‘It was
our
turn. Our baby, it was
our
baby.'

In Ryan Street Izzy dozed on the couch while Bila continued to breastfeed. It was midnight when Asher found his girls still up
and the TV bright but muted. He looked around the flat at the chaos of baby clothes and a sink full of dishes. He kissed his woman on the head and walked to the bathroom. Izzy woke, groggy and tired. She was always tired these days; no energy for running, no time for reading, little time for catching up with domestics even. She heard Asher in the shower and thought back to when they used to shower together. They hadn't done that for months, and she wondered if they'd ever do it again. They had hardly made love since Bila was born three months before. When she felt like it Asher was asleep, and when he felt like it she was bathing, feeding or playing with Bila. Once or twice when they both had felt like it, they looked at each other and agreed that sleep was more important.

While Asher had pretty much maintained his usual schedule at work, Izzy hadn't gone back to work at all. Every time Bila smiled at her, she couldn't imagine leaving her daughter for even a day, let alone days at a time. Tracey had tried strategising a show for working mothers, which Izzy was keen on, but for the next year at least she just wanted to watch her daughter grow, inch by inch, pound by pound – or by centimetre and kilo, as Asher would always remind her.

Although their intimacy in the bedroom had lessened, their commitment to each other and their daughter had reached new heights; whenever exhaustion translated into frustrations and short tempers, one reminded the other that all that mattered for now was their baby girl. Without exception, every near argument was avoided with the mention of Bila's name. Above all else, their love for her flowed like the river.

T
iddas
owes its creation to many people and organisations.

I had a flicker of an idea for a novel when I was in Mudgee in 2010 when I met Kerry Barling and Aleshia Lonsdale for the first time. They later helped me ‘research' the town and read drafts for which I am grateful.

Creative Industries and the Oodgeroo Unit at QUT, along with the Copyright Agency Limited, provided me with the time and space to research and map out the original outline of the book in 2011.

I am a method writer and took my research to all the necessary venues. I'd like to acknowledge my ‘research assistants' in Brisbane: Nadine McDonald-Dowd, Amanda Hayman, Jackie Huggins, Krissy Kneen, Josie Montano, Tracey Walker, Susan Johnson, Mel Kettle, Sidonie Carpenter, Janine Dunleavy, Sandra Phillips, Leesa Watego, Loretta Ryan and Annie Pappalardo. Kelly Roberts is a boy, but he helped too!

My loving Brisbane family, Kerry Kilner and Angela Gardner, provided both Izzy and I with a home in West End.

The Queensland Writers Centre and The Edge at the State Library of Queensland gave me space, moral support and lots of coffee while working on the final edits, and the librarians
at Tara Anglican School for Girls gave me space as well as a constant supply of cakes.

For some technical, baby-related information my thanks go to Marianne Tome. And for just listening to me rant about writing and life generally – thank you Sonja Stewart, Belinda Duarte, Robynne Quiggin, Terri Janke, Trish Marasco, Pam Newton and Kerry Reed-Gilbert. You are my deadly tiddas.

To my writing buddy and tidda, Lisa Heidke – thank you for giving me refuge so that I could write the final draft, not to mention the daily support on everything life manages to dish up.

I bow with respect to my Simon and Schuster crew: Lou Johnson, Larissa Edwards, Roberta Ivers, Carol Warwick and all the team – with a big thanks to Liz Ansted for her invaluable bookclub notes and suggestions – who have worked passionately to help me share my story. You tiddas rock! Thanks, too, to Janet Hutchinson for her always wise and gently-does-it edit, and to Jessica Dettmann, for her eagle-eyed proofreading.

To Tara Wynne, you are the best agent – thank you!

Finally, to my beautiful mum, my sister Gisella and all my clan: thank you for just being you.

Anita Heiss

2014