Yes!My mind screams.At last!
Buzz, buzz.
The vibration doesn’t stop. It’s brutal and insistent. I can’t ignore it, neither can he.
His hands drop. He steps back. Cold air floods in. “Go on.” His words betray his disappointment. No less than I feel.
I pull out my phone. Dana. She wouldn’t call if it wasn’t necessary. Suddenly Cora, single, in her twenties, is gone and I’m back to being a mother.
I answer my phone. “What’s wrong?”
I can hear sobbing in the background. Dana doesn’t bother with small talk. “Effie’s been throwing up for the last half hour. I’m so sorry, Cora, but she only wants her mummy.”
“I’ll be right there. Tell her I’m coming.”
I don't have to say anything to Anders; he's already heard my side of the conversation. The last vestiges of the heat of our encounter have evaporated. I wonder how he'll handle this. He says he wants a family; this is the reality. It’s a good test.
But he doesn't plead for extra time, nor does he make me feel bad about having to go. All he says is, “I'll walk you to your car.” And he does, matching his pace to mine as I hurry along. The maternal imperative is strong, forcing me to walk as fast as myoffice heels allow. I regret not wearing my flats so I could hit a faster pace.
Stormfly comes into sight, lights flash a splash of orange as I near, and there's the plunk of her unlocking. I pull open the driver's door. Every shred of the moment we shared outside the restaurant is gone, and Anders seems to understand.
“Take care, Cora. Drive safe,” he says.
And then I'm behind the steering wheel, pulling the car out into the night-time traffic. I check the rear-view mirror once more. He's standing on the side of the road, watching me go.
The Aftermath
A wise person once said,You’re only as happy as your least happy child. And Effie is downright miserable. Despite the naturally warm tone of her skin, she looks pale and droopy. Dana hands her over to me with palpable signs of relief. Silently she hands me my child, her car seat and a clean sick bowl. I suspect Dana is like me. Give me a bloody extremity and I will tackle it without drama. But vomit starts a sympathetic response. The smell, the sight, the sound — all of it makes me shudder and want to head for the nearest receptacle.
As I take Effie in my arms, the bubblegum scent of children’s toothpaste hits my nose. Her bottom is padded. From somewhere Dana must have magicked up some pull-ups for the journey home. The woman is a goddess.
Effie’s joy at having a solo sleepover is long forgotten. She buries her feverish head into my shoulder, tears still streaking her cheeks. “I’m sick,” she mumbles, sounding ever so pathetic. My heart breaks for her.
“I know, darling.” I smooth my hand across her face, wiping away the tears. “I’m going to take you home now. You’ll feel a little better in your own bed.”
There are no arguments as I strap her into her car seat and settle the bowl on her lap. It’s late so there isn’t so much traffic but it’s still Friday night so I’m careful to obey the speed limits. The police will be out looking for drunk drivers and other idiots. I hear Effie retching, but I don’t stop. I concentrate on driving and getting us both home safely and quickly. Her moans are reassurance she’s still functional and hasn’t choked on anything.
Sure enough, when I come to unstrap her, there is a tablespoon of putrid bile in the bowl, but not much else. The poor dab chick has emptied herself out and there is not much left. Throttling down my own urge to vomit, I tip it into the gutter.
Once we’re home, I move quickly. I make sure Effie has some water to drink before I strip her out of her puked-over pyjamas, give her a flannel wash, and pop her into her favourite clean ones. When she is ready, I take her to bed.
“Can I sleep with you tonight?” Her voice is piteous. I don't have the heart to say no.
So eventually Effie, her stuffed toys Penguin and Dolphy (relics of two of her earlier enthusiasms), a wheatie for her stomach, and a sick bowl all join me in my double bed. It's earlier than my normal bedtime, but it's been a rollercoaster of a day, and I'm emotionally worn out and physically drained. I turn the light off and settle down to sleep.
Half an hour later I'm woken by the sound of Effie retching. She's snuggled into my side. In the dark, I frantically reach around trying to locate the sick bowl but it's on the other side of the bed. As I lean over to grab it, Effie brings up the water from earlier. The bed catches most of it, the wheatie takes a hit but my nightdress is soaked too.
I get the bowl underneath her, but it's too late. She looks up at me with miserable eyes. I move fast. If I wait, the liquid will soak through to the mattress and then my life will be even harder. I leap out of bed, scoop up Effie, and frantically strip the bedlinen like a woman who knows exactly how long vomit takes to soak through a mattress protector.
Only when I've ripped off the padded under-sheet, do I turn on the light. My relief when I see the mattress is untouched is heartfelt. Miraculously, Effie is also untouched; it seems the wheatie, and I sustained most of the damage. Taking Effie's hand, I pick up her toys and the empty sick bowl and lead her back to her room. Before nestling her down, I give her more water. It may come back up but it’s vital she stays hydrated.
Only once I've showered, set off a boil wash, double wrapped the wheatie and binned it do I remake my bed. Finally, I can climb back in, but the backwash of adrenaline is still buzzing. Sleep evades me. In these witching hours, I can’t stop thinking about my evening before Dana’s call.
It pains me to admit it but there is something between us. Something bigger than lust. Not as big as marriage, but a definite connection. For the first time since Mike, I feel the need for contact. For a slender thread reaching through the darkness. Eventually, I pick up my phone and text Anders:Sorry about tonight.
I don't expect a reply. It’s after midnight. But one arrives immediately.No worries. I had a great time. How is Effie?
It's a tiny, innocuous question, but lying there in the dark, for the first time I feel I'm not alone. No one else in this big, wide world cares how we're doing. Except he does.
