look.’
‘No really…’
‘You must! You must! Come along, I will come with you.’ Before I had time to say more, I was handed the bag once again, and escorted across the marble foyer into the spectacular Bar 228. It was impossible not to admire the work of the world renowned designer Phillipe Starck.
Lavish tobacco toned leather chairs, highlighted by the sparkle of rare crystal decanters, all to a backdrop of warm timber detailing, made me feel as if I had been transported into the finest gentlemen’s club. This was the perfect place for drinks with Steve later that night.
The barman came towards us, a single glass of champagne on his tray. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he offered.
Bewildered, certain there must be some mistake, I put my hands out and began to laugh. ‘Look I’m not sure what’s going on here, but this isn’t my bag, and I didn’t order any champagne.’
‘But you must,’ the concierge said, pulling out a chair and pressing me into it. ‘You must sit here while I sort it out.’
Before I had time to protest, with a level of importance, he strode off. I glanced at both the bag, still on my arm, and the glass of champagne on the table in front of me. Completely baffled, I glanced around. What was going on? The poor man was definitely rather odd. I placed the bag on the table and studied it. Someone was lucky. My phone rang and I jumped in fright.
‘Do you like it?’ was all he said.
The moment I heard his voice, I felt the tears well in my eyes. ‘Davis? Did you do this? Is this from you?’ However my heart felt heavy. It wasn’t gifts I wanted.
‘Open it.’
‘Davis please… you’re making this harder.’ My chin quivered. ‘It’s not flowers or macaroons or handbags I want. Please don’t do this…’
‘Open it.’
I exhaled heavily.
‘I said to open it,’ he insisted.
For a moment I sat doing nothing and then with the phone tucked up to my ear, I reached out, took the bag onto my lap and unzipped it. Inside was a small black velvet bag. As if bitten, I rapidly pulled my hand away and placed it to my mouth. ‘What is it?’ I murmured.
‘Have a look.’
I slid the drawstring open. Inside sat a ring box. My hands began to shake and emotion overtook me. ‘Davis…’
‘Stop crying and open it.’
I nearly dropped the phone, and once again tucked it tightly under my ear. ‘No, I can’t.’
‘Frenchy… open it.’
With trembling hands I opened the black box and there sat a stunning princess cut sparkling engagement ring.
‘Davis…’ I sobbed, too overcome to say more.
‘Peach Avanel, will you marry me?’
‘Yes, yes I will…’
‘Stop crying, you’ve got mascara running down your face. You need a tissue.’
‘What…?’ Shaking my head, I jumped up from the seat and spun around. Davis was standing in the doorway. I gave a cry that sounded as if it had been torn from my heart and threw myself into his arms. They closed around me hard and strong.
I guess I wasn’t surprised that this was happening, although I was surprised at the way Davis had planned it. Any woman being presented with a beautiful diamond ring, as a girl you squeal with delight, you say you can’t believe it, but of course you can, it is exactly what you had hoped for.
Davis told me he knew he needed me the moment I flew out of Brisbane. He stayed with me two nights, and then was gone again.
We married eighteen months after that. I wanted a September wedding, but Davis said the following March was better. After all what was six months? I wanted something small and intimate. Davis wanted half the suburb there. He said it was good for business to have as many clients as possible.
However, my wedding day surpassed all that any girl could dream of: the romantic Vera Wang dress, the champagne toasts, the promise of time alone with Davis cruising the Maldives on our luxurious honeymoon. Although Davis was terribly handsome in his Hugo Boss tuxedo, I felt like the day didn’t belong to us alone.
I wanted children straight away but Davis said he wanted me to himself for a while longer. Three years after we were married, I finally put my foot down. I told him it was now or never. He agreed.
I wish my body had agreed. Somewhere along the line it forgot what it was meant to do.
*
Shaking my head, I was instantly jolted out of my reverie by the sound of a tiny voice. ‘But Mummy I want a baby chino.’ As if waking from a sleep, I blinked and glanced around the surrounding tables. Tables spilled out from the inside eating area under an awning onto the pavement, where customers, just like me, perched to watch the passing trade.
‘Emma sit up here and wait for Daddy to come,’ the blonde, blue eyed mother gently coaxed.
‘But Mummy…’ the little voice rose higher.
‘Emma,’ the mother’s voice was firm. ‘Daddy won’t be long. You can eat your sultanas while you wait.’ Snapping open the hot pink Tupperware container, she handed it to the little girl who was dark haired and appeared to be of Chinese decent. I wondered about the father.
Holding the coffee cup to my lips with both hands, I sipped slowly, watching.
A tall fair haired man, dressed smartly in business attire, crept up behind the tiny girl and then hoisted her into the air up onto his shoulders, among squeals of delight.
‘Come on Miss Em,’ he said. ‘Come inside and help me order coffee and treaties.’
I noticed the mother’s face as she watched her husband and child go into the deli, a child who I gathered was adopted. I wondered about it, the mother’s look was one of satisfaction. To have denied her the right to be a mother would have been criminal. And not for the first time, I pondered whether motherhood was a right or a gift. Suddenly I was reminded of my looming childlessness. Whenever it came upon me, like it did at that moment, it hit me in the pit of my stomach and I literally felt ill. I knew I was still in mourning. Not only mourning the person who I had thought was the love of my life, but also mourning the loss of my perfect dream, the expectation of becoming a mother soon, something I had been planning and dreaming of for years.
With some effort, I attempted to change my thoughts, knowing that thinking about my desire for children did me no good whatsoever. Emerald Green and I were still to work on that one. I had told her I was not ready. She had said soon. Soon was looming.
No amount of effort to re-direct my thoughts helped and I was reminded of those early days of finding out about Davis’s affair and the huge realisation that I was not headed towards motherhood. There were many nights where I lay in bed feeling pain that was bigger than my body. A huge circle of pain encompassing not just me but
