The Good Sister(42)

‘Are you feeling better?’ she asks, after I have finished my water.

I nod. ‘A little.’

‘What happened in there?’ she asks. ‘Did it all get a little too much? Or was it something you ate? Maybe–’

‘My period is six days late, Rose.’

Rose stops rubbing my back. After several beats, she says, ‘What?’

I repeat myself. Rose takes a couple of steps away from me, then lowers herself into another chair.

‘Fern . . . have you and Rocco been having sex?’

I wonder why else she would think I’d be worried about my period. ‘Yes.’

‘And you think you might be–’

‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I think I’m pregnant.’





Back home, Rose and I cram into my little bathroom. The pregnancy test sits flat on the bathroom vanity before us. One line is clearly visible, and a second fainter line is starting to appear beside it.

‘Well,’ Rose says, holding her temples. ‘You’re definitely pregnant.’ She takes a deep breath and sits on the toilet.

I remain standing, leaning against the wall.

‘I wonder what Wally will say,’ I say.

Rose looks up. ‘You’re going to tell him?’

‘Of course.’

Rose looks startled, which is puzzling. I have a rudimentary understanding of common courtesy, after all, and the only times I have heard of people not telling the father of their baby that they are pregnant are in daytime television shows when the pregnancy is the result of an affair or a one-night stand. When the two parties are exclusively seeing each other, the custom appears to be some kind of excited announcement.

‘Surely that is the expected thing to do under the circumstances?’ I say. ‘Inform the father of the baby that he is going to be a dad?’

‘Yes,’ Rose says slowly. ‘If you’re going to keep it.’ She is quiet for a long time. ‘Is that what you are suggesting?’

I’m not sure what I’m suggesting. The fact that I’d originally decided to have the baby for Rose feels like a million years ago. Back then, there was no Wally. The baby was nameless, faceless. Now, the baby is inside me. It is ours. And everything feels, all at once, completely different.

‘What if I were suggesting that?’ I ask.

Rose closes her eyes for a short moment. ‘Do you really want to know what I think?’ She opens her eyes.

I nod.

‘All right. Honestly, the idea worries me. We both know you’ve had your . . . difficulties in the past.’ She doesn’t say it explicitly. She doesn’t have to. ‘What if something happened when you were with the baby? Babies are vulnerable, Fern. Bad things can happen, even by accident . . .’ Rose sighs. She looks like she might cry. ‘The only possible way this could work is if you had a stable, level-headed partner. And . . . Rocco isn’t, is he?’

I regret telling Rose about Wally’s nervous breakdown. I’m not entirely sure how it happened. One minute we were eating chicken satay for dinner and talking about how the library was abolishing fines for overdue books, and the next, Rose knew everything. Her gift for getting information out of people is truly astonishing. Owen used to say she’d make a great interrogator.

‘Think about it, Fern. Rocco couldn’t cope with some basic business pressure. He found it so stressful that he had to leave his country, abandon his whole life and start a rudderless existence, living out of his van! What would happen if he were presented with real difficulty, like disease or death? Or a baby that just wouldn’t stop crying?’

I open my mouth to answer the question, then realise I have no idea. She’s right, of course. I couldn’t be trusted with a baby. Neither could Wally. How foolish to even consider it.

Rose stands and takes both my hands in her own. ‘I wish it were different, Fern. I really do.’

I nod.

‘I’m here for you,’ she says, wrapping her arms around me. ‘Now, don’t worry. We’re going to figure this whole thing out. I promise.’

I hold still, waiting for the hug to end. But Rose just continues to hold me, pinning my arms to my sides. I feel like I’m imprisoned, stuck. Wearing a straitjacket.





JOURNAL OF ROSE INGRID CASTLE


Fern is pregnant. The crazy thing is this is an eventuality I’ve never considered. Sadistically, I can’t help but think how different it would be if it were me who was pregnant. If I was suddenly carrying the baby I’d yearned for. Instead of being in damage control, we’d be celebrating. It’s like the universe is playing a game with me, pushing me as hard as it can, seeing when I will break.

I should be used to these kinds of curve balls in my life. Growing up, whenever I got used to one set of circumstances, something happened to throw me off. Like after Mum broke up with Gary. For a while, things were normal again. Better than normal. Living with Mum’s moods seemed a small price to pay to be free of Gary’s abuse. But things didn’t remain normal for long.

I’ll never forget that morning when I was twelve and I woke up and heard Mum singing. Singing! It was too bizarre. Mornings were always quiet at our place. In our normal routine, Fern always woke first – her body clock was very reliable – and then she would wake me. From there, we’d creep around the house, careful not to wake Mum. Mum was bad enough after a good night’s sleep, we certainly didn’t want to poke the bear by waking her up.