Chapter Seventeen Sadie
Chapter Seventeen Sadie
‘Hnnnnrrrrgggghhhh,’ Jonah groaned when my alarm went off.
I froze, halfway through sitting up.
Usually, on Friday mornings, when we were sharing his bed in the Bunbury Suite so Rosie and Georgia could have mine, he didn’t even register my alarm going off in the pre-dawn.
He’d sleep straight through me peeling myself off him and tiptoeing out to go and potter around my garden for a bit before the kids woke up, which conveniently meant we never had to talk about the fact that I always ended up sleeping half on top of him.
‘Cold,’ he mumbled.
‘You’re so warm, Shaw.
Like a hot-water bottle.
’
I tucked the quilt around his shoulders.
He made a satisfied noise and snuggled into it.
As usual, he was sleeping on his front, half draped-over, half hugging his pillow; and as usual, it made me think of three things: the story Fiona had told me about his dad taking his teddy bear away from him; what it might feel like if his arm was around me instead of the pillow; and then the teddy bear again, because I really shouldn’t be thinking about the other thing.
‘Go back to sleep, Jonah,’ I whispered, wrapping my dressing gown around myself.
He wasn’t wrong about the cold – as winter got closer, the mornings were getting increasingly icy.
‘Don’t take too long today,’ he murmured.
‘Got to go to campus after we get the kids to school, remember?’
I suppressed a groan.
Fridays were usually what we optimistically and euphemistically called our ‘research day’.
We didn’t have to teach any classes, and getting Lex and the girls off to school was a task that didn’t require looking particularly presentable, so we usually spent the day working from home in the most comfortable clothes we owned.
Today was the first Friday we might actually get to look at our actual research.
We’d finished writing the new units we’d been tasked with and we’d put the final touches on Lecture 52 the day before, a whole week and a half before we were due to give it.
So, naturally, today was also the day that Petrovski had insisted on meeting with us both on campus to discuss our Semester Two workload – which was almost certainly going to involve dropping even more lectures on our heads.
‘Parcel came for you yesterday,’ he added, just as I was about to sneak out of the bedroom.
‘Forgot to tell you, with the kids and everything. I put it on top of the fridge.’
It was probably some books I’d optimistically ordered for the research I was almost certainly going to have to set aside again immediately.
‘Thanks. Need anything from the garden for breakfast?’
‘Cut me some chives and chervil.’ His eyes were still closed, voice half-muffled in his pillow.
‘Going to make omelettes. The twins love them.’
Something in my chest started aching.
I rubbed at it with the heel of my hand.
‘Okay,’ I said.
‘I will.’
He sent Lex down to the garden a little while later with my coffee.
I was always glad to spend time with Lex – now they’d realised I knew a decent amount about the books they liked, we often had good chats about what they were reading – but I always missed Jonah too, on these Friday mornings.
The little rituals we’d established, the patterns, the routines…
It made sense.
I didn’t need all my years of therapy to tell me that I craved stability, and it didn’t take a genius to see that Jonah was the only one currently providing it to me.
But still.
I shouldn’t miss him when he was literally just upstairs.
Him asking for herbs so he could make his nieces happy shouldn’t make me want to cry.
I couldn’t get too attached to our cosy little domestic arrangement, no matter how surprisingly pleasant it had become.
Because even if we still had more than two and a half years of it ahead of us, it was eventually going to end, and if I tied myself too tightly to it…
After I’d sent Lex back up to the apartment, I rubbed the heel of my hand across my chest again in the crisp morning air, looking at the snow, which had fallen overnight on the mountain.
Sometimes – usually when Jonah and I were arguing over one of our lectures – I thought about the story Fiona had told me that first night at Tsundoku.
If this is what university is going to be like, I think I’ve fallen in love with it.
Sometimes – like when he set a new dish in front of me, designed just for my tastes – it was hard to understand how I’d ever hated him.
This man had been raised so coldly, so combatively, and yet every day of our marriage, he’d treated me with such care – me, and Fiona, and the kids.
You’re a good husband, Jonah.
Sometimes – like when I caught a glimpse of him coming out of the bathroom wearing a towel slung low around his hips; or when he was focusing hard on dinner, wrists flexing as he flipped something in a pan; or on mornings like this one, when I woke before my alarm in the Bunbury Suite but pretended to be asleep so I could spend more time sprawled on top of him – I thought about what Chess had said to me, in that last, awful fight we’d had.
Sadie, if you want to fuck him, just fuck him.
There had been a moment last month when I’d seriously thought about it.
When he’d taken me shopping for plants, and he’d pulled me out of the path of that trolley and against his chest, and his eyes had darkened behind his glasses and his lips had parted and his breath had been hot and uneven against my skin – I’d been this close to saying fuck it and jumping him.
But I couldn’t risk it.
He was the only thing I had in the world now, and if I let myself have him – let myself close any of the remaining distance between us – let myself get really, truly, properly attached – it was going to destroy me when this ended.
Petrovski was running late for our meeting – not especially surprising, given he had about as much respect for other people’s time as he had for women – so Jonah and I took up residence in our cupboard office while we waited.
‘You okay?’ he asked.
‘You’re quiet this morning.
’
‘Fine, fine.’ I waved a hand dismissively.
‘Just worried about what kind of workload nightmare there is in store for us next semester, that’s all.
’
Jonah turned his chair around to face mine, as much as he could without our chair wheels tangling.
‘No matter what, we’re finishing our old-married-couple article first though, right?
We’ve got to get those research points.
’
‘Trust me, I’m well aware.
’
‘Sorry. I know you don’t need me to mansplain how important research points are.
I’m just…
’ He ran a hand through his hair.
‘I have nightmares about what would happen if we went through all of this just to fail probation.’
‘Yes, imagine,’ I said, forcing away the uncomfortable prickle that always went through me when I was reminded of our expiration date, ‘having to go through being married to me for absolutely no payoff.’
He gave me a strange look.
‘Shaw, that’s not what I—’
The lift dinged.
‘Good morning, Jonah, Sadie,’ Petrovski said, with no acknowledgement it was nearly lunchtime.
‘Shall we have that chat?’
This was the first time Petrovski had deigned to invite us into his inner sanctum.
His office wasn’t as big as Vargas’s, but it was still ten times bigger than ours.
‘Have a seat.’ He gestured to two chairs, set confrontationally in front of his desk.
‘I’ve got some good news and some bad news.
’
The good news, apparently, was that our co-teaching this semester had proven to be such a success (despite all the times Petrovski had walked into our lectures and openly disapproved, something he pointedly neglected to mention) that they wanted us to do it again.
‘We’ll do exactly the same thing for the two compulsory first-year units running next semester,’ he said.
‘Each of you will nominally chair one, but you’ll teach them both together.
We’ll really bed down that foundation for the years to come.
’
Twenty-six more lectures to write.
Awesome.
Just awesome.
‘Now, though,’ Petrovski said, making an extremely condescending face as he looked at me, ‘comes the bad news. We’re putting the new popular fiction unit on hold indefinitely.
’
My jaw – tighter than it had ever been, as I hadn’t got around to finding a new myotherapist yet – dropped.
‘Are you seriously telling me,’ I demanded, ‘I spent all that time writing that new unit – the whole reason you hired me in the first place – only for you to shelve it?’
‘I know this is upsetting, Sadie.’ He was talking to me like I was five.
‘But the budget is very tight right now, and sometimes, we can’t afford to run all the units we want.
’
‘Then shelve mine,’ Jonah said tightly.
‘Shakespeare’s in plenty of other units.
You don’t need more.
’
‘The decision has been made,’ Petrovski said.
‘In this difficult time for the faculty, it’s important that we focus on our core business: providing our students with the high-quality literary studies education that they come to Lyons for.
And, with respect, Sadie, the kinds of things you do don’t necessarily fall under that remit.
’
I was going to punch him.
I was going to punch him right in his smug tweedy face.
‘Would you like benchmarking data from popular fiction units at other institutions? Because I can provide that. These are consistently high-enrolment, extremely popular units.’
‘I hear you.’ Now he was talking to me like I was three.
‘But the university has a reputation to uphold.’
‘And Sadie is a tremendous asset to it!’ Jonah said.
‘That’s why you hired her!
’
‘Jonah, I appreciate you’re defending your wife.
’ Oh, so now he was talking like I wasn’t even in the room.
Cool.
Cool cool cool.
‘But this little foray into the popular was one of Sofia’s initiatives, and as she transitions out of her role as Head of School, I’m sure you can agree we need to realign our priorities.
’
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
‘Where’s Vargas going?
’
The evil little smirk on Petrovski’s face told me everything I needed to know, even before he opened his mouth.
‘She and the leadership team have mutually agreed that it would be better if she explored other opportunities.’
Fuck.
‘Professor Carmichael will be taking over as Head of School’ – Double fuck.
Julia was going to flip a table – ‘and I’ll be serving as his deputy, as well as remaining in my role as head of the Literary Studies department.
’
Had anyone ever had a smile so infuriating?
‘To conclude this workload conversation,’ Petrovski went on, ‘next semester, in addition to the two first-year units, you will also co-teach the two new second-year units: the one on modernism that Dr Henshaw has prepared and the one on Shakespeare that you’ve prepared, Jonah.
’
Twenty-six more lectures, on top of the twenty-six he’d already assigned us.
Again.
‘Why?’ I said.
‘Jonah’s the expert on early modern drama, not me.
There’s no reason for me to co-teach that unit.
’
‘And if Dr Henshaw prepared the modernism unit, surely Dr Henshaw should be teaching it,’ Jonah said.
‘Neither of us have any expertise in that period.’
‘Dr Henshaw’s workload is at capacity.
’ Petrovski was getting annoyed now.
‘And sometimes we have to teach units we don’t particularly want to teach.
We all have to do our part.
’
He levelled a look at Jonah.
‘As the son of such an experienced and celebrated scholar, I would expect you to understand this.’
Jonah stiffened.
‘Christian Fisher hasn’t seen the inside of a classroom in at least a decade,’ I said tersely.
‘Even if he had, he would never deign to team-teach.’
Petrovski stood, a clear sign that he wanted us to leave.
‘If you have any hope of passing your probationary period, Sadie,’ he said, ‘I’d suggest you watch your tone.
’
‘Don’t speak to her like that.
’
‘Jonah,’ Petrovski said, ‘while—’
‘Don’t even think about finishing that sentence with something like it does you credit to defend your wife .
’ Jonah stood too, glaring at Petrovski.
‘This isn’t about the fact that I’m married to her.
This is about your total disrespect for her as a scholar.
’
‘As I was saying,’ Petrovski said, meeting Jonah’s eyes, ‘while I understand you’re upset, I’d also suggest watching your tone.
Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’re on probation too.
’
We rode the bus home in silence.
There didn’t seem to be much to say.
Jonah got off two stops early.
‘I’m going to the shop,’ he said, gesturing at our little local supermarket out the window.
‘To grab some stuff for dinner tonight.’
‘Do you need anything from the garden?’
‘No.’ His jaw was set.
‘I’ve got it.
’
When I got home, the apartment – which just that morning had been a whirlwind of activity, with Jonah and I trying to juggle getting ready for work with getting the kids ready for school – was deathly quiet.
I was completely alone.
I dropped my handbag in my room and went to the kitchen, pouring myself a tall glass of water and drinking it slowly.
I had to stop.
Think.
Not panic.
Be sensible.
I sent a quick text to Julia about what had happened in the meeting and the fact that Vargas had apparently been forced out of the university.
I updated the document I was keeping on my phone of all the ways Petrovski was unfairly targeting me.
I emailed Lin and Veronica to see if they’d be interested in taking some more seminars for us next semester.
I sent another quick email to Henshaw to see if we could set a meeting time to talk through their modernism unit.
If I got very, very lucky, maybe they’d have created some preliminary lecture notes that Jonah and I could use as a starting point.
Fuck.
Jonah.
Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you’re on probation too.
I’d led with my fists with Petrovski, and Jonah had come to my defence because he was a good fucking person, and now he was in the shit right beside me.
I poured myself another glass of water and turned around, leaning back against the kitchen bench, trying to take deep breaths and slow my heart rate.
The disparate ways that Petrovski treated Jonah and I had never been fair, but still, if he lost this job because of me…
I closed my eyes.
Me catastrophising wasn’t going to help either of us.
When I opened them again, I caught sight of a package sitting on top of the fridge.
Jonah had mentioned it that morning, but I’d completely forgotten about it.
I went up on tiptoe to get it down.
The weight of it in my hands was familiar.
Books.
I found a kitchen knife (one of mine, not one of Jonah’s – one of the few spats we’d had since moving in here had been about his precious knives) and slit it open.
I pulled the books out and blinked in surprise.
I’d been expecting a couple of second-hand research monographs I’d found online for cheap.
These were romance novels – a Talia Hibbert, an Alisha Rai, a battered old Jennifer Crusie.
And then I found the note.
Dear Sadie,
First of all, I’m sorry I haven’t replied to your letters.
I’m so, so glad your life in Hobart is working out well (even if your boss is not – I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you to document everything he does, just in case).
It makes me really happy to hear that your world is full and that you’ve built a network of people around you who care about you.
I’ve been thinking a lot about the fight we had and I want you to know that I took what you said to heart.
As a result, I’ve taken a leave of absence from work (lucky I had all that time saved up!
) and I’ve gone away for a while to do some soul-searching.
You’ve been my whole world for as long as I can remember.
I need to work out who I am on my own, what my life looks like when it doesn’t revolve around you.
Because of that, I’m going to be off-the-grid for a while longer.
I’m staying with a friend who’s holding onto my phone for me, but if you really need me – you can call.
Love,
Chess
PS.
Hope you like these books.
I don’t have your skills in picking them out, and the availability here is a bit limited.
The note fell from my fingers to the floor.
I covered my mouth with my hands, but nothing could prevent the awful, strangled sob from coming out.
I want you to know I took what you said to heart.
Those horrible things I’d said to her, the things I would do anything to have her forget.
She’d listened.
You’ve been my whole world for as long as I can remember.
I’d been a burden on her for her entire life and when we had that fight, she’d finally realised it.
I need to work out who I am on my own, what my life looks like when it doesn’t revolve around you.
I was never going to be able to fix it.
I was never going to get her back.
I’d lost her.
I picked the letter up from the floor and read it again, tears blurring my eyesight.
If you ever really need me – you can call.
But I had been cursed with an excellent education in close reading, and between the lines, I could see all the things she wasn’t saying.
All the leave she’d saved up, that time she was going to spend visiting me – that was gone.
She was going to be off-the-grid awhile longer – it had been months, and she still couldn’t bear to speak to me.
I could call her, but only if I really needed her – call me if you need me to bail you out of jail, kid; otherwise, I’m exhausted and I’m done.
The front door closed.
I shoved the letter hurriedly in my bra, scrubbing my hands across my face before Jonah saw me.
If he knew I was such an awful person that my own sister wanted to cut ties with me, then…
‘I hope you’re prepared to eat like a queen tonight, Shaw,’ he said, dropping two heavy paper bags on the kitchen counter, ‘because I’m about to cook through my feelings, and it’s going to get elaborate.
’
‘Can’t wait,’ I managed to choke out.
‘How about, um, how about I run down to Tsundoku and buy some wine?’
‘No need. I already did.’ He took a bottle out of one of the bags and put it in the fridge.
‘I’ve got it covered.
You don’t need to worry about anything.
’
Please let me worry about something , I wanted to say.
Please, let me contribute.
Please let me look after you in some tiny little way, so I can convince myself I’m not a millstone around your neck.
‘I am so sorry about how that went down today,’ he said.
‘I can’t believe Petrovski’s doing this to you.
Getting you to put in all that work writing that pop-fic unit and then cancelling it – and the way he was speaking to you!
’
‘You didn’t need to—’ I swallowed, still perilously close to tears.
‘You didn’t need to defend me like that.
’
‘I know you’re perfectly capable of fighting your own battles, but – Sadie, are you all right?
’
He was looking at me, examining me closely, trying to read my face.
If I stood in this room for one second longer, he was going to see exactly what Chess had – that I was a burden, and he was better off without me.
‘Still just rattled from the meeting,’ I said, forcing a smile.
‘I’m, um, I’m going to go do some work, okay?
We’ve got another fifty-two lectures to write, and I want to make sure I’m pulling my weight.
’