Page 73 of Just One Look
“Me?” Nyree laughed again. “I tell Marko I’m tired, he carries me upstairs and puts me to bed, and I escape.”
“So it’snotactually terrible to have him carry you.”
“Well, no. I could’ve been whinging a bit when I said that. It’s still hot. Sadly, I’m pretty sure I’m ready to walk them myself now. And, look, we made it to the gelato place. That’s far enough, don’t you think?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Elizabeth said. “I may go running later anyway.” Nyree looked at her out of the corner of her eye, and she laughed. “You’re right. I probably won’t. I’llplanto, though. Surely that counts.”
* * *
Luka droveout of the carpark gates and didn’t think about his neck, or that the only thing he needed right now was rest. It had been a right bugger getting through this afternoon’s training, brief and light as it had been, and he was going to need another MRI tomorrow.
The MRI tomorrow was the problem. Or it could be, depending on the surgeon.
He’d finally seen Elizabeth’s text when he’d been changing in the sheds. He’d answered it, but hadn’t got anything in return, and he wasn’t sure what to think about that, or what to do, either.
He drove through the western suburbs on autopilot and tried to think. She’d said she had a day off today. She’d had at least two glasses of wine at midnight, so she must have been sure of that. If he still hadn’t heard the chime of her answering his text, that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to answer. Maybe she was out for one of her shuffling almost-runs with Webster. Or maybe …
Through the CBD and up the hill. Onto Ponsonby Road, but he wasn’t turning off for his place. He kept going to hers.
There was a van parked in front of her garage. A visitor, so she must be here. He got out of the car and headed through the gate just as a thin young woman came out of Elizabeth’s door. She jumped on seeing him, so he held up his hands, stepped off the narrow footpath to make room for her, and said, “Friend of Elizabeth’s. Visiting.”
From the house, some deep, joyful barking announced that Webster, at least, was home. The woman said, “I’m just the … the dog walker,” as if she were negotiating with an armed robber.
“Ah,” Luka said. “Webster.” She still looked uncertain, as if learning the dog’s name had merely been a clever ploy, sohe said, “Luka Darkovic. Rugby player. Blues. The reason for the height and the facial scars and all.” He had a diagonal one across his cheekbone that some people seemed to find particularly disturbing. “Like a cut from a duel,” a German girl he’d dated had told him. “The Germans used to do that, in their dueling societies at university. It was a mark of honor, the dueling scar. As is yours. You stood your ground and were willing to be hurt.”
“Yeh, nah,” he’d said. “Caught a boot in a ruck, that’s all.”
Now, the dog-walking girl, who didn’t seem nearly as impressed by his dueling scar, said, “Oh,” and looked marginally less terrified. She stuttered out, “Well … goodbye, then,” and escaped.
After all that, Elizabeth wasn’t home. Or she wasn’t answering.
Right. He climbed back into his car, thought a minute, and decided,Nothing you can do about this now. Go do something else instead.
* * *
Elizabeth was walking backto the car again, wondering why digesting gelato didn’t count as exercise, because itfeltlike exercise, as Nyree waded through the foamy water at the ocean’s edge, unbothered by the waves washing over her ankles, and said, “I’m mad about the baby. Of course I am. She’s beautiful. Giving her her bath, feeding her … it’s pretty bloody marvelous.But it’s been pretty bloody marvelous to look at something else, too. To talk about something else. Tothinkabout something else, just for a wee while. I wonder if I’m a bad mother.” She considered. “Nah. I refuse to believe that. Other women must feel this way, even if they don’t say it. Maybe they’re not as open as me, that’s all.”
“Sorry,” Elizabeth said. “Can’t help you with that. No experience. But remember, childbirth comes with all sorts of hormonal changes and readjustments, which could make you have stronger emotional responsesanyway, not to mention the completely objective, measurable upheaval in your day-to-day life, and the physical changes post-C-section, because recovery from surgery takes time, and so does recovery from pregnancy. Your organs and tissues have been manhandled. You could think of it as interior bruising, what you get from a rush surgery, and it’s significant. Pain itself is physically exhausting, also. So there’s all of that. I generally don’t think about my feelings, though, myself, so I can’t be too much more helpful than that.”
“Mm,” Nyree said. “Also, other mothers aren’t painters. I haven’t painted for weeks. I’venevernot painted for weeks. It’s who I am. It’s how Ithink.Do you know what I mean?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth said. “On that front, I can empathize completely.”
“Because of the surgery thing.”
“Decades of it. I’m more a surgeon at this point than I am a person, probably. It’s been mentioned.” Blame the ice cream for that confession. Dark chocolate gelato—reallyexcellentdark chocolate gelato—could be as intoxicating as Scotch, apparently, especially if you mixed it with hazelnut gelato. Two scoops had probably been a bad idea, but they’d felt like such a good one. Why did ice cream slide down your throat so much more easily than, say, salad?
“So you understand,” Nyree said. “Also,there’s my body. That’s as confused as everything else. My body’s saying it wants to hold the baby and feed the baby, but my hands keep wanting a paintbrush as well. So troublesome. Also, I know I’m not meant to want sex, and I don’t, because this wound I’ve got really does hurt, and I’m tired, too, but ….I’m married to Marko bloodySendoa,he’s home for once, and he’s going running, or going to the gym to get away from Mum, then coming home and stripping off his sweaty clothes and coming out of the shower and all, and he’s asking me how I’m feeling and kissing me sweetly every night and going to sleep!”
Elizabeth considered as Nyree picked up her shoes—which, yes, were still here—and they headed up to the car. Elizabeth wiped her feet on the grass as she went and wished for a towel, but when she hit the button to unlock the car, Nyree climbed straight in, clearly with no thought about sand and salt. With some care, though, and some holding of her belly. The walkhadbeen a lot for her, but it might have done her good, too. What was it about wind that stirred you up? If digesting ice cream was an aerobic workout, walking in wind was something more than that.
“Do you want my professional advice?” Elizabeth asked as she started the car. “Keeping in mind that, though I’ve done my share of C-sections and gynecological surgeries as a resident, I’m nothing close to an OB?”
“Yes,” Nyree said. “Please. Marko is patient. I’m not. I’m going to start screaming at him soon, and all he’s done is be wonderful. But not a beast. I married a sexy beast, and I want my beast.”
Elizabeth made an extremely careful U-turn and headed back toward Saint Heliers. “First, if you want to paint—paint. At least for short periods, because you should limit the time you stand, unless you sit to do it. I’ve never known any painters, actually.”
“No,” Nyree said. “I stand. I have to stand.”
