Ora's Gold Page 14

  Jake appears at the top of the steps. He comes down carefully, looking a hundred years older.

  ‘I can’t find a test,’ I say. ‘Dione’s cleared everything out.’

  Jake’s looking around, taking in the ‘spa’, maybe imagining the births that have happened in the tub. He slides down beside me and puts his hand over mine.

  ‘I’ve been working it out. We’ve been here for over seven weeks and you haven’t had a period,’ Jake says, sounding all practical. ‘Can you remember when your last one was?’

  ‘I’ve been trying!’ I sound whiny.

  I take a breath in and start again. ‘I haven’t had one since … a couple of weeks after I came out of the SIF. I remember being disappointed that Melissa wasn’t at the MBD Centre. That was the last time.’

  ‘Okay.’ He sounds more hopeful. ‘So that’s at least, what … nearly three months ago?’

  I nod. His hope is infectious.

  ‘And if we had conceived, it could only have been when we were up at the shack, yes?’

  I nod again.

  ‘So it’s much more likely that you’ve been stressed by all the SIF stuff and your period has stopped, which means maybe, you’re probably not even fertile at the moment.’

  ‘Yeah! Maybe. I remember hearing something about how women who’ve been traumatised can stop having their periods. And I hardly had any blood to give them last time.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Jake says triumphantly. He puts his arm around my shoulder and squeezes me close. ‘So it’s much more likely to be that.’

  I nod again, relief flooding through me. The thought of not being pregnant is perfect. But then another thought strikes me.

  ‘What about the MBD Centre? What if they test and I am pregnant? I’ll have to go into one of the centres, Jake. I can’t. I can’t be locked up again.’ My breath begins to catch.

  ‘Shh,’ he holds me tighter. ‘Ora, it’s okay. I read the rules on the back of the letter. You don’t have to have a test yet. You’re allowed to miss two donations per year. It’s just that you haven’t been twice in a row, so they’ve noticed. I don’t think you’ll be tested as long as you turn up next time with blood.’

  ‘Are you sure? Mum was tested for not going twice in a row!’

  ‘How many years ago was that? Five? Six maybe?’

  I nod.

  ‘They were just trying to prove a point. The scheme was new. Things are different now. If they question you, you can tell them you’ve been through some trauma—they’ll know you were held by the SIF—and your period is all over the place. I think it will be okay. We just need to find you some blood.’

  22

  Evidence

  ‘What?’

  Melissa is looking at us like we’re bonkers. We’re sitting around Dione’s table over cups of tea.

  ‘I don’t think I am, but just in case, if I was, I just … I’m not ready … well, for any of it, but I couldn’t handle the SIF being involved right now. But I really don’t think I am anyway, so I know it seems kind of odd …’

  She doesn’t say anything. Jake fills the silence.

  ‘She just doesn’t want to go anywhere near a doctor or anyone who’s connected to the SIF, that’s all.’

  ‘So …’ I sound so lame. ‘I remember how you said you saved some blood for … for the earth each time. And I was … wondering if you’d …’

  ‘Give it to you instead?’

  I nod and look at my hands, clasped tightly in my lap. I feel like an irresponsible teenager sitting with a disapproving parent.

  ‘It broke, okay?’ God, I sound desperate.

  ‘What?’

  ‘The condom. It broke. It wasn’t like we … weren’t careful …’

  Melissa holds up her hand. ‘Whoa! Too much information. This is crazy. I can’t believe it.’ We sit in awkward silence. ‘I’m only just getting over the shock of Sarah,’ she says, shaking her head sorrowfully. ‘And now there might be another baby on the horizon.’

  ‘Sarah?’ Jake looks concerned. ‘What’s up with Sarah?’

  ‘You know she’s back, right?’ Neither of us knew. ‘Jake, she’s a real mess. I don’t know what they did to her in there but she won’t touch the baby. She won’t pick her up. And poor Little Tom can’t work out why his mum’s turned into a zombie. I think she’s got some kind of trauma thing going on. I shouldn’t have left them today but I had to get away. It’s doing my head in.’

  Melissa keeps looking at me strangely. Maybe she’s disappointed. Can’t she see that this wasn’t my fault? And we don’t even know for sure.

  She finally agrees to meet me at the MBD Centre. She’ll let me know when. Any day now, she reckons.

  *

  Our bliss bubble has popped, leaving a rumbling, thunder cloud in its place. I feel completely trapped by the possibility that my life might be changed forever. Devouring movies is the only thing that helps, getting involved in other people’s dramas and watching the screen instead of Jake’s eyes.

  We have our first fight and Jake storms off—or tries to—looking ridiculous on his moped. I’m glad he goes. It was just a joke. We’ve been competing to see who can make the best omelette, and when I make a comment about this one being his sloppiest yet—I’m just trying to connect—he loses it. He scowls at me and says he’s sick of eggs. I say something terrible, like why doesn’t he go back to his old life, and he storms out.

  It’s the first night we’ve been apart in over eight weeks and I hate it. After my anger subsides I’m left with the familiar gaping hole, except now it’s bigger and more treacherous than ever. I hardly sleep, listening and hoping that every sound is him returning.

  He finally comes back in the morning and we cling to each other like we’ve just survived a war.

  After that, things are good for a few days.

  Even the trip to the MBD Centre goes well. Melissa is a bit frosty, but we get talking about her designs and it distracts us both. The official doesn’t say a word when I hand over the pot. She just takes it, scans the barcode with all my details, puts it in the fridge and gives me a shower token. She doesn’t even check me off against the computer.

  Jake and I celebrate and stay up late, listening to music, like none of this is happening.

  The next morning, I vomit. I get up to pee and my head swims and belly does a somersault, trying to flip its contents upwards, except there’s nothing there. Jake hears me retching and comes in to see me heaving over the toilet. He doesn’t say anything, just puts his hand on my back and stays with me.

  The evidence is screaming at us, scrawling black paint all over the walls.

  I make my way back to bed and burrow under the covers. The maybe has just turned into a most bloody likely. I can’t be. I cannot be.

  Jake cuddles me through the covers and asks if I want him to stay, but I need to be alone.

  I hold my tears in until he’s left for uni.

  I cry for most of the day. Every time I stop, another thought arrives, sparking a fresh torrent of tears. My life is over before it’s begun. I’m too young! I’ve had so little fun.

  I want my mum.

  My pillow is sodden and my throat hurts from sobbing.

  Maybe I’ll miscarry from all the crying.

  I don’t want to be pregnant.

  Where is Dione? Please don’t let her be dead. I need her. Do I really have lots of cells multiplying inside me? It isn’t possible. How can my body sustain a new life?

  I need to vomit again.

  Later, after hunger drives me to the kitchen, I’m standing against the bench chewing a dry cracker when I see my sketchpad, abandoned on the sideboard. The tears begin again. What about my art? I’m supposed to be choosing a course, building my portfolio, not moping about in my t-shirt and undies, contemplating the prospect of being a mother.

  With a surge of anger, I grab a charcoal stick and strike it over the paper, again and again until it breaks and crumbles into pieces. I get another and make a frenzie
d mess of chaotic black lines as I howl out my rage and confusion.

  I stomp back to bed and toss and turn for hours. What would it be like to have a baby in my arms? My baby. Jake’s baby. It’s the first time I’ve let myself hold the thought, like the tiniest bud between my fingertips. Then I flick it away and fall into confusion again, more tears and finally an uncomfortable sleep.

  Jake wakes me up by sitting on the bed beside me. I open an eye and see him holding the sketchpad.

  ‘Ora, this is incredible.’

  I’ve no idea what he’s talking about. I can barely see, my eyes feel so swollen. It looks like an ugly black mess of hate to me.

  ‘Can you see it?’

  I sigh and sit up and try to see what he’s seeing.

  ‘There,’ he points to the darkest part. ‘It’s an eye.’

  I look a bit longer and then goose-bumps prickle along my arms.

  ‘And here,’ he points to a tail. ‘And here, these are wings.’ The eyes are unmistakeable. The dragon is here in the room with us.

  I am speechless. As if I’m not half mad with fear and confusion already!

  It suddenly dawns on me that this is the final piece of evidence. I truly am, without a doubt, pregnant. And somehow this dragon has something to do with it.

  ‘I’m pregnant Jake,’ I say, looking at the picture.

  He looks at me briefly, then back to the dragon.

  ‘I know,’ he says quietly.

  The longest silence stretches between us. He’s waiting for me to say something. I’m relieved he’s not asking what ‘we’ are going to do. It is about him too, but it’s my body.

  With a new life growing inside it.

  A solitary tear rolls down my cheek.

  He’s keeping a respectful silence. Out of love, I think.

  ‘If I have this baby,’ I start slowly, ‘I’ll be only nineteen.’ His eyes widen slightly, and he nods briefly in acknowledgement.

  ‘If I don’t have this baby it will be a huge, almighty relief,’ I say, needing to laugh. He joins in, but it’s hollow. ‘And … it will feel like something between us has been lost forever …’

  Where did that come from?

  We can’t look at each other. Too abruptly, unexpectedly, there’s something real growing out of what we’ve shared. How would it feel to scratch that out? What would it mean?

  ‘I’m not talking physically. I mean … energetically …’ I still can’t look at him, or explain properly. ‘And then there’s the physical side. The actual getting rid of it. We’d have to find someone who would help us and risk more SIF stuff.’

  ‘Ora,’ he says quietly, ‘I don’t know if I’m ready to be a father.’

  ‘Of course you’re not ready,’ I snap. ‘Neither of us is ready. This wasn’t in our plans. This was the last thing either of us wanted.’ I pause. More tears are welling as feelings of loss surge up. Loss of our freedom; the easy joy we’ve shared.

  ‘I just don’t get it,’ I say. ‘What are the chances of something like this happening? How many times do condoms rip? And what are the chances of getting pregnant, even when they do? And what are the chances of getting pregnant the very first weekend you make love in your entire life? Is that it? Is that all the fun I get before I have to become a mother? Is that all the fun we get?’

  Jake looks at me. There’s tenderness in his eyes. Pain.

  ‘Say something.’

  ‘There’s too much going on in my head! I don’t know what to say.’ He pauses. ‘I want it and I don’t. I’m mad and I’m elated. I want to talk about termination and I don’t. I want to be a dad and do a better job of it than mine did. And I don’t. Because what if I can’t? How would we manage? What about uni? What about your life? There are too many questions, Ora. I don’t know the answers.’ He trails off.

  We sit for ages, side by side, not moving, trying to make sense of this wild card that life has thrown at us. He moves slightly and his body brushes my nipple. A spark flies through me and the promise of temporary relief alights in my body. I move to sit astride him and kiss him slowly, first on both eyelids and then all over his face. By the time I reach his lips we’re off, eager to lose ourselves in each other and get away from the responsibility piling up on our shoulders.

  In amongst our passion, he pauses about to reach for a condom, but I motion for him to carry on and he does. It’s the sweetest moment letting him come inside me, looking into his eyes, allowing all of him in me. Seconds later, an overwhelming yes rushes through me—that inner voice again. This time I’m listening.

  Later, much later, as we lie in the darkness, I realise there have been far too many endings in my life. I know it’s the least sensible thing in the world, but I’m not going to initiate another. I’m not going to have something else to lament the loss of.

  I am over grief.

  And I am starting to want this baby.

  23

  Gumnut

  I’m letting the reality sink into my being. My morning sickness continues, driving out any residual doubt.

  Jake tapes my mess of charcoal to the kitchen wall and spends a lot of time in front of it, drinking coffee. I don’t say anything but I can see him sinking lower under the weight of this new future. It’s like his heart grows heavier each day under the dragon’s watchful gaze. Every now and then I catch him looking at me. I can’t read what he’s thinking.

  A few mornings later, after vomiting a million times, I go into the kitchen and the dragon is gone. My heart misses a beat, but then I see it on top of the fridge, rolled up neatly with an elastic band.

  ‘Good morning,’ Jake arrives through the back door holding eggs. ‘Scrambled or fried?’ He kisses me as he goes by.

  ‘Neither,’ I say, as a wave of nausea dares me to run back to the bathroom. Instead I sink into one of the chairs, concentrating on the table’s cool wood under my hands.

  Jakes eyes are twinkling and he looks like he’s about to start whistling.

  ‘What’s up with you?’

  ‘Well, after mourning my youth and freedom and seeing endless years of heaviness and responsibility ahead, I’ve decided to get on with it and come around to the idea of being a dad.’

  Before I know it I’m in his arms, hugging him. We look at each other and start laughing—madly—and do a silly dance. Waves of elation roll through me—it’s going to be okay. More than okay—he’s happy! As we spin around, the worries and the fears fall away and it’s just us, in this moment.

  Three!

  Much later, the weight returns, but it isn’t as heavy. We spend our days jumping between parallel universes—denial, where we just carry on like it will always and only be the two of us. And then acceptance, where we get serious and wonder what life will be like with a baby.

  The day we decide to move into Dione’s bedroom is one of our responsible days. Her bed is so much bigger than mine. Jake suggests it gently, pointing out that neither of us is sleeping well. I feel a bit weird agreeing, like I’m accepting Dione’s gone. Forever.

  ‘It’ll be better for you and the baby.’

  He’s feeling all paternal after our visit to Tom and Sarah’s.

  ‘Sarah’s still in a state though, isn’t she?’ Jake says, clearly still bruised after she shouted at him.

  ‘I don’t think she liked your comment,’ I venture, gently.

  ‘All I said was, “You’re looking better”!’

  ‘You hit a nerve. She feels so bad about not connecting with the baby in the beginning.’

  ‘But they’re connecting now! I thought that was worth noting.’

  I shrug.

  ‘She was so negative, Ora. All that stuff about the Program! It was like she was trying to scare us.’

  ‘You don’t know what she’s been through.’

  ‘Neither do you.’

  ‘I think I know a bit more than you.’

  ‘She wouldn’t stop talking about the violent births. And the drugs. It was doing my head in. How could she ev
en know if she was so drugged out?’

  ‘She’s been really traumatised, Jake. And from my experience of the SIF, I can believe it.’

  ‘The Programs aren’t run by the SIF, Ora.’

  ‘Huh!’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  We’ve started to raise our voices.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about this now.’ He looks shocked that I’m shutting him down.

  ‘But we need to talk about it, Ora.’

  ‘I’m going for a walk.’

  ‘But it’s dark.’

  I grab my jacket off the chair.

  ‘We need to make a decision about where—’

  ‘Won’t be long.’

  *

  Apart from spending time outside, I want to be in bed a lot. Maybe it’s my brain trying to get used to the idea of being pregnant or maybe it’s my body making me rest, but the place where I’m happiest is snuggled up in bed, sometimes sleeping, sometimes thinking. I’ve never thought seriously about having a baby before—I’m still getting used to having a boyfriend!

  I’m also mourning my alternate future. It’s like a chasm that opens up sometimes, and there’s no way across to the other side—a beautiful field of dreams where my artist’s life was meant to be, lost forever.

  The sea is still my balm and I go there as much as I can. I’m also gardening madly, turning hidden veggies into an art. I get a buzz out of creating new recipes from the food I’ve grown and a hit out of defying the SIF. More and more, I understand where Dione was coming from. Maybe it’s got something to do with having been inside and survived. I’m not petrified of them anymore. Sure, I’m scared, but the fear isn’t enough to stop me. Besides, the SIF visits are almost non-existent now. Apart from going to the MBD Centre with Melissa, I hardly spare them a thought.

  Jake has nicknamed the baby Gumnut. We spend ages talking about our childhoods and laughing about what he’ll be like as a dad and what sort of mum I’ll be. I know we’re living in the clouds, but the waves of grief have stopped knocking me over and it feels good. Me, Jake and Gumnut.