Still Life 1994.

I’m thinking of painting a still life, there are so many flowers around here. New bouquets arrive daily. I have to do flower maintenance; I throw out the dead ones to make new, smaller bunches. There is a constant smell of sweetness and decay.
I am still bleeding and swollen. I’ll have to go back to the hospital soon to have the stitches removed. I’m dreading it.
The bloody plumber’s supposedly coming today too. Bill reminded me to tell him to finish whatever he starts; he tends to leave us with open trenches. I’ll have to get dressed.
I want to cover the bathroom mirror; I’m all swollen and shapeless with huge, blue-veined breasts. I love the shower though, it’s hot and peaceful. But a dull ring makes its way in. Damn, the phone. If it’s Bill, he’ll worry if I don’t answer. I run to it, ‘Hello?’ I say dripping onto the floor.
‘Hello, is that you Jen?’ says a woman.
‘Speaking,’ I chirp.
‘Hi Jen, it’s Suzy from Brown’s, wondering if you’re free to do a job for us? We’ll need it quickly I’m afraid, as usual.’
I’m mad for taking on a job now, but Bill’s working, why shouldn’t I? Besides, Suzy doesn’t know, it’ll be a relief.
‘Sure, I’d be happy to.’
‘Oh thanks so much, I’ll get the brief to you today, any prob’s, give me a call,’ says Suzy.
‘Looking forward to it,’ I lie.
Then, anger descends. It’s so vast, I don’t know what to do with it. I dissolve into tears and pound the floor with useless fists. Presently and still wet, I take the phone off the hook and finish my shower.
The bedroom’s become so crowded, there are piles of unfolded clothes and more flowers. The sweet decay smell is here. Perhaps I could move the bassinet. I gently wheel it into the other bedroom.
Thump! Thump! Thump! Ah, the plumber’s here.
‘Gidday,’ he booms as he comes in, holding his boots, ‘I s’pose you’ve been busy lately.’
‘Yep.’
He walks through to the backyard.
‘Whadja have?’ he asks, distracted.
‘A boy.’
‘Oor he’ll keep ya busy! Look, I’ll be finished today, I’ll just fix up that irrigation leak an’ I’ll be gone.’
‘Right, I’ll be inside.’
I start folding the clothes; all the baby stuff first. I don’t know where to put it all. Then, I’m on the floor, in tears again. I stop and look up. The plumber’s here, his bulging eyes aghast.
‘What’s wrong love’?’ he asks, ‘Would you like a cuppa?’
‘Why not?’ I answer.
‘He’s a quiet fella isn’t ‘e, noises don’t wake ‘im?’
‘His name’s William, and no, noises don’t wake him.’
‘Aren’t you the lucky one?’
‘Johnny, he died.’
His face contorts in horror. I have again, delivered my unspeakable news. Then, Johnny blurts,
‘Oor, you’ll have another one won’t ya?’
Just like replacing a lost teddy.
‘Yeah, Johnny,’ I say to rescue him, ‘I probably will.’

Teresa Culkin-Lawrence.