The stroller began to roll.
‘Whoops.’ Sam reached out one hand and caught hold of the handle.
The woman looked up.
‘Jesus Christ.’ The phone slid from beneath her head and shoulder and crashed onto the ground as she stood up fast and grabbed the stroller handle, her hand overlapping Sam’s.
She looked at the traffic roaring by and then back down at the stroller.
She said, ‘It could have … he could have …’
‘I know,’ said Sam. ‘But it’s all good. It didn’t.’ He removed his hand from under hers. She had the handle in a death grip now.
‘Mummy, the phone is all cracked!’ The preschooler held up the phone he’d rescued from the ground with an expression of pure horror on his face. Sam could hear a tinny voice calling out from the phone, ‘Hello? Hello?’
The lights changed to WALK. The woman didn’t move. She was still processing it, still seeing what could have been.
‘Have a good night,’ said Sam, and he crossed the road to go home, the sky huge and hopeful before him.
chapter eighty-five
‘You don’t have to rush back to the office, do you?’ said Oliver as he tucked his ears into his swimming cap – snap, snap – and pulled his goggles down over his eyes so he looked to Erika like a goofy alien.
They had met for their lunch break at North Sydney pool, which was within walking distance of both their offices, for their first swim after their brief ‘winter hiatus’, as Oliver liked to call it. During the winter months they swapped their swim for a thirty-minute high-intensity cardio class at the gym.
‘As long as I’m back by one thirty.’ Erika pulled down her own goggles so that the world turned turquoise.
‘Good,’ said Oliver. He seemed serious.
As Erika swam her first lap, she wondered what was on his mind. Ever since his discovery of her ‘habit’ she felt like she’d been demoted to junior partner in their marriage. He’d made her promise to talk about her ‘kleptomania’ with her psychologist.
‘It’s not kleptomania!’ Erika cried. ‘It’s just …’
‘Stealing your friend’s stuff!’ finished Oliver brightly.
There was something different about Oliver lately: a kind of recklessness, except not really, because Oliver would never be reckless. Almost aggressiveness? But not quite. Feistiness. It was not unattractive, to be honest. They were having a lot of angry sex. It was great.
She hadn’t yet discussed her ‘kleptomania’ with her psychologist because she hadn’t seen her. Not Pat had cancelled a few sessions recently at the last minute. She probably had her own personal problems. Erika secretly hoped she might be forced to take a sabbatical.
As she turned her head for every second breath she looked up and saw the grey arched pylons of the Harbour Bridge soaring into the bright blue sky above them. It was an amazing place to swim. Wasn’t this enough for a life? Good work, good exercise, good sex. She tumble-turned and looked for Oliver. He was way ahead of her, powering through the water; lucky it wasn’t too busy because he was swimming too fast even for the fast lane.
It would be the baby. That’s what he would want to talk about. The baby was his project and his project management skills were excellent. Now that Clementine was no longer part of the picture he would want to ‘explore other options, other avenues’. He would want to talk through the pros and the cons. Erika’s whole body slowed in the water at the thought. Her legs felt like limp weights she was dragging along behind her.
The thought occurred to her: I’m done. I’m done with the baby project. But of course she couldn’t be done, not until Oliver was done.
This was simply the wall. Every time you ran a marathon you hit a wall. The wall was both a physical and a mental barrier but it could be overcome (carb loading, hydration, focus on your technique). She swam on. It didn’t feel like she could get past this, but that was the nature of the wall.
After their swim, they sat in the sun outside a café, looking straight out onto the harbour, eating tuna and kale salads for their lunch. Back in their suits. Sunglasses on. Hair just slightly damp at the ends.
‘I’m going to send you a link to an article,’ said Oliver. ‘I read it yesterday, and I’ve been thinking about it. Thinking about it a lot.’
‘Okay,’ said Erika. Some new reproductive technology. Great. It’s just the wall, she told herself. Breathe.
‘It’s about fostering,’ said Oliver. ‘Fostering older children.’
‘Fostering?’ Erika’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.