6. Darling Daughter Diora
“Of all the haunting moments of motherhood, few rank with hearing your own words come out of your daughter’s mouth.” – Victoria Secunda
The crowds pushedpast as I followed the signs to the south food court. Weaving my way between people, the e-pad vibrated against my wrist before the melodic beeping noise reached my ear.
Message receivedflashed on the small screen.
I pinched the e-pad and the screen appeared, showing a text message:
Where are you? Am waiting and starving! I’m eating for two remember. Diora.
Oh good, I can narrow down my search to only pregnant-looking, twenty-something women. Hopefully there wasn’t a baby boom going on or anything. But what if she’s only a couple of months along and wasn’t showing yet? Hang on, if she was pregnant, then that meant I was going to be… a grandmother. No way!
This couldn’t be happening. Real grandmas knitted and had short curly mauve hair and stored tissues up their sleeves, didn’t they? I was too young for this. Two children and a grandchild-to-be all in one day? I needed Valium. Preferably intravenously. Damn! I should have asked the doctor for a prescription.
I trudged onwards and came to the densely populated food court, where noisy kids ate greasy hot chips and drank cola while their mothers yelled at them to sit still and eat quietly.
Squish. I looked down to find a mangled chip stuck to my shoe, courtesy of the rosy-cheeked kid I’d just passed whose hot chips were spilling out of their container onto the table and floor. Shaking it off, I continued my trek, past a table of overweight teenagers sharing a pizza, one of them burping even louder than Ryan had this morning. Charming.
At another table, a woman with an exposed pregnant belly bursting forth from her skimpy singlet top, pulled out a cigarette and lit it. A security guard instructed her to put it out. She spat in his face and he promptly escorted her from the food court. Hopefully that wasn’t Diora.
A cleaner frantically scrubbed one of the tables with some sort of electric cleaning brush, clearly unable to keep up with the demand, as patrons got up and left without taking their scraps to the rubbish bin. Disgusting. I was used to eating in fancy restaurants and hip tapas bars, but was now forced to endure what can only be described as… squalor.
I glanced around the crowd, eyeing the stomachs of young women like some weirdo. There was another pregnant woman, but her skin was too dark to be my daughter. A few other women sat by themselves, but I couldn’t see their stomachs below the tables.
Diora, Diora, where are you? I know. I’ll call her! Like a pro, I opened the contacts screen on my e-pad and found her name. Diora Bellows. She must be married, or at least had the good sense to change her unforgiving surname. Diora McSnelly would be like fine wine served with baked beans. I pressed call and waited.
“The person you are calling is on another call. Please call back later.”
Oh, why now? Which one are you, Diora?My eyes continued searching. And then I overheard an interesting conversation…
“No, I specifically ordered a deluxe pram, not a budget pram. What kind of mother do you think I am? As if I’d trust the safety of my unborn child to a budget pram, are you crazy?” The voice came from somewhere to my right. “Plus, they look awful. Why in the name of Dior anyone would want to buy an olive-green pram is beyond me. Or did the designers think it would go well with baby poo? Anyway, I expect your delivery driver to return to my house immediately to collect the mistaken item and deliver the correct pram. My husband will be there, I’ll let him know to expect you. Goodbye.”
I turned my head to the source of the confident voice; a beautiful young woman with glossy black hair, tied back into a sleek ponytail. Hoop earrings dangled at her cheeks and she shook her head, assumingly at the injustice of the budget pram incident. Understandably. Budget just meant crappy quality. Everyone knew that.
As I walked nearer, I could see a large mound at her front. She fiddled with her e-pad and spoke again. “Honey, I just called them. It’s all sorted. They’re going to deliver the correct pram within the next hour, so don’t go anywhere, okay? Huh? No, she’s not here yet. I’m bloody starving… okay, love you too. Bye.”
Yep. Gotta be Diora. Either that or my long lost identical twin. Minus the large abdomen of course. Actually, mine wasn’t far off the mark.
“Mum, you’re here, finally!” She tried to stand, but failed. “Come here, will you?” She gestured with her hands.
I leaned in and she kissed me on the cheek. It felt all tingly and weird and for a moment my legs became like jelly.
“Happy birthday! I hear you’ve had a bit of an adventure this morning?”
“I guess I have, after my freak-out, followed by the doctors and…”
“Wait, you went to the doctors? Are you all right? Is it your indigestion again? Or your hormones?”
Oh, so she meant the bungy jumping. I thought she was using the word adventure as a nicer alternative to mid-life-crisis. “I’m fine, just a little anxiety.”
“So how was it… the bungy jumping?” Diora didn’t wait for a response. “I can’t believe you actually did it! My mum, leaping off the edge with no fear in the world! You’re so brave. I’d chicken out for sure. Not that they’d let an eight-and-a-half-month pregnant woman do it anyway. Wouldn’t want the baby coming out the wrong end!”
By the sounds of it she didn’t need to bungy jump, words spewed from her mouth like she’d done three jumps in a row. I now understood what Ryan meant when he said she’d talk my ears off.
“I’m still a little jittery, but I survived, so that’s the main thing,” I said.
She nodded, then rubbed her stomach. “Well, if I don’t eat soon I’ll get grumpy and start telling people off for parting their hair the wrong way or having overgrown eyebrows. Let’s eat, shall we?”
Yep. My very own mini-me. “You stay here. I’ll get us something. What would you like?” I asked.
“Hot chocolate and a slice of chocolate mud cake. With chocolate ice cream on the side. And chocolate sprinkles.”
Okay, the resemblance ends there. No way would I eat that amount of chocolate in one month let alone one day. Although at the mention of the word chocolate, my stomach grumbled and my previously dry mouth salivated. Chocolate cake would be nice, just this once. It was my birthday and this technically wasn’t my real body. Besides, it’s beyond help anyway, might as well indulge.
Within five minutes of bringing a tray of chocolate goodness to our table, Diora had wolfed down her cake and ice cream and worked her way through the hot chocolate. All while interrogating me for the details of this morning’s adventures.
“Well, the adventures don’t end there. The day’s only just begun and you’ve got plenty more ahead of you,” she said. “I can’t wait for tonight. It’s going to be so much fun!”
I’d already had quite enough for one day and it wasn’t even midday yet, but what could I do? I just had to appear normal and keep an eye out for a solution, a way of getting back.
“Although,” Diora continued, “if I’m going to be able to cope with your party, I’ll have to have a nap beforehand.” She rubbed her belly. “This little one’s got me so tired I’m falling asleep at eight thirty most nights, only to be woken by a karate kick and triple somersault two hours later.” She downed the rest of her hot chocolate, while I was only halfway through mine.
The conversation was easier than I’d imagined, as she did most of the talking. I mostly nodded and gave single syllable responses, then Diora looked at her e-pad.
“Wow, is that the time? We better go,” she said, pushing her chair back with a screech and using her hands to propel her body up from the chair. “Whoa! Quick, Mum. Feel this.” She grabbed my hand and shoved it onto her belly.
A wave of ripples met with my hand, then they moved further to the side and I saw them. Little bumps rolled along her abdomen, as though a tiny creature was trapped and trying to get out. Well, I guess that was kind of true, although it was a tiny human.
But not just any human. My grandchild. And hopefully it wasn’t trying to get out right now. I mean, of course it would eventually, but please, not today. I’m not ready to be a mother, let alone a grandmother.
“Does it hurt?” I released my hand.
Diora shrugged. “No, but I’ve been enjoying more Braxton Hicks lately, which certainly make me stop and take notice.”
Braxton Hicks? Who’s she talking about? Was he some kind of pop singer? And what did he have to do with pregnancy?
“How long did you have Braxton Hicks for before you went into labour with me, Mum?” Diora asked.
Crap. How the hell should I know? “Umm, I can’t remember.”
“C’mon, surely you have some idea. Was your pregnancy with me that unmemorable?” Diora planted an exaggerated pout on her face.
If only she knew the half of it. I couldn’t exactly say: ‘Actually, Diora, I don’t remember it at all, nor do I remember giving birth to you and I certainly don’t remember your (gulp) conception.’ I shuddered at the thought of me with William. And then I remembered what he said about my other birthday present being later tonight. Oh God, I had to find a way back home before then!
“Um, maybe it was a week?” I hoped that was a believable answer and that she wasn’t expecting me to say five months or anything.
“A week?” she exclaimed, holding on to her stomach as if for support. “I’ve been having them for about ten days now. I could pop at any minute!”
Please don’t. Please.
“Oh well, my next doctor’s appointment is only three days away, so I’ll ask about it then. On second thoughts…” Diora pinched open the e-pad screen and typed something.
“What are you doing?”
“Foogling.”
“What?” I peered towards the screen.
“Foogling. To see what the internet can tell me about Braxton Hicks.”
A shriek of surprise shot from my mouth on seeing the search engine web page. It looked just like the Google logo, only it said Foogle.
“Oh look, three-hundred and forty-seven people on Facebook have been discussing Braxton Hicks in the last hour.” Diora pointed at the screen.
This Braxton guy must be quite popular with young people these days. I wonder if his music’s anything like Ryan’s?
“Braxton Hicks contractions usually last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks before the onset of labour,” Diora read from some website she’d found.
Contractions? Didn’t contractions mean labour? Something told me she wasn’t talking about a pop singer after all.
“And look, this blog tells the story of one woman who didn’t have any Braxton Hicks at all. One day, her water just broke and bam!… Out came baby.”
“Ah, Diora, maybe you should just wait until you see the doctor instead of relying on the internet.” Well, whaddya know. My first piece of solid motherly advice!
“Yeah, you’re right. And we better get walking,” she replied, pushing the screen back into the e-pad and tugging on my arm, both to lead me in the right direction and to balance her weight.
“Diora?” I asked. “Why do they call it Foogle? I’ve forgotten.”
“Seriously? And I thought pregnancy brain had fried my memory,” she said. “Facebook bought Google, remember? So now it’s Foogle.”
“Oh, of course. Geez, the bungy jumping must have messed with my head.” I attempted a light-hearted laugh.
We walked, or rather I walked while Diora waddled, moving at a snail’s pace. Surely a bit of weight around the tummy couldn’t make a person that slow? Getting impatient, I forced myself to walk slower, while inside I was still running around in circles after my bungy jump, not to mention the urgent desire to find a way out of this body.
As I waited for Diora to catch up, my eye caught a large poster displayed in the window of a beauty salon: Take Ten Years Off with our YouthMagic Facial! It had a before and after photo of a woman about forty, but in the after photo she looked about thirty. Clinically proven to work* it said under the heading and there was some fine print at the bottom but I didn’t bother with that. I pushed through the door and into the salon.
“Mum, what are you doing?” Diora asked, panting slightly.
“I must have one of these facials!” This could be it. I’d close my eyes while the beautician did her magic and when I opened them I’d be twenty-five – and it would be much more enjoyable than bungy jumping.
“Mum.” Diora tugged at my arm again and ushered me away from the counter, much to the disappointment of the eager beautician. “I’ve already booked you in for a YouthMagic facial, remember? But not at this dodgy salon, at Queen of Beauty,” she whispered.
“You have?”
“Uh-huh. For all three of us, remember?”
I was sick of people saying remember, but my eagerness for a magic facial overtook my irritation. Hang on. “Three of us?”
I hoped she didn’t mean the unborn baby was having some kind of pre-natal, trans-abdominal Foetus Facial. But this was the future and after experiencing yolkless eggs, e-pads, PB-whatchamacallit miracle brain scanners and talking self-driving cars – anything was possible.
“You, me and Elaine,” Diora replied matter-of-factly. “Only I’m having the Pregnant Princess Facial.” She smiled and raised her ample bosom with pride.
“Oh, right.” I had no idea who Elaine was.
“And, they’re going to do your hair and make-up. So you’ll be all prepped for your big meeting this afternoon.”
The only meeting I planned to attend would be my birthday party. With my twenty-something friends and no one even close to the age of fifty. I picked up my pace.
“Mum, can you slow down? Don’t you remember what it was like when you were pregnant?”
No, I bloody didn’t! I just wanted to hurry up and have this facial! Although, I had no idea where I was supposed to be walking to. “Yes, of course, sorry sweetheart.” I was getting good at this mother talk.
Ten painful minutes later, we arrived at Queen of Beauty and I’d barely pushed open the door before a woman with a frizzy mop of blonde hair threw her arms around me.
“Oh, Kel. Happy Birthday! This is going to be so much fun!”
I jerked backwards and stiffened my shoulders at the intrusion.
“Mum’s a little on edge after her bungy jump, Elaine,” Diora explained.
“Yes, that’s right. I can’t wait to see the video!” Elaine said, before switching her embrace over to Diora and then placing a hand on her belly. “How are you, sweetie?”
Oh God, I’d forgotten they’d taken a video of the jump. Just routine, they said, for visual evidence if anything went wrong. Not that it ever did, Bungy Ben had assured me.
“Happy birthday, Kelli,” a velvety voice said from somewhere behind Elaine’s curly mop. Elaine moved aside and a large woman with hair rolled neatly into a bun on the top of her head stepped forward and grasped my hands in hers. “Welcome to your morning of pampering.”
This must be the Queen of Beauty herself. A garland of tiny gold beads was strung around the base of her hair bun, looking somewhat like a crown. She wore a black and gold uniform, falling with a liquid-like drape over her curves.
“Thanks,” I replied, glancing around the waiting area which resembled a palace. The chairs for guests to sit on and await their appointment were mini-thrones! Subtle ambient music permeated the air, as did a warm woody scent, while a triple-tier water fountain trickled peacefully in the corner. I’m sure I’m not the kind of mother to favour one child over another, but Diora hit the jackpot with this birthday gift.
I met my reflection in an elaborate gilt-edged mirror on the left wall and startled slightly, but was then drawn to the beautiful design of the frame. Its curves and swirls gave it a classic elegance, but with a hint of modern spark. A lamp stood below the mirror on a small table, the swirly design of the mirror repeated in the gold of the lamp base. “These are beautiful, aren’t they?” I said, tracing the curved design with a finger.
“Of course they are, you designed them,” Elaine said with a chuckle.
My finger froze and I looked up at Elaine, this woman I’d never seen before. “Huh?”
The Queen stepped forward again. “They’ve stood the test of time too, these classic pieces never go out of style. And although I adore your new season designs, I won’t be changing the decor in a hurry. We get so many compliments from clients on the look of our salon and I always tell them it’s thanks to KC Interiors.”
KC Interiors… KC Interiors. The ad I saw in the virtual magazine at the doctor’s! Do I really work for this company, designing homewares? Or could it be that I even own this company?
“My best friend certainly has talent, doesn’t she?” Elaine said to The Queen, who nodded. “Anyway, are we going to get cracking on our YouthMagic facials or what?” She rubbed her hands together. “I think I’m beyond help, but it’s worth a shot,” she said, tipping her head back in a laugh.
“It’s never too late, Elaine. Everyone can be a Queen of Beauty.” The Queen glided towards a long red carpet that ran down the hallway and gestured for us to follow. When I caught up with her, she stopped for a moment and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You’re going to feel like a new woman when you walk out of here, Kelli. I promise.”
A hopeful smile stretched across my face. “I’m counting on it.”