Angry Ladies
Welcome to Angry Ladies, a podcast of short stories.
Come in from the cold and sit by the fire awhile as Laura Borrowdale reads domestic dystopias, messy relationships and vengeful women, and then takes some time to discuss the implications of those with some writer friends.
Angry Ladies
Dead Ends Live at Little Andromeda
Use Left/Right to seek, Home/End to jump to start or end. Hold shift to jump forward or backward.
Laura launched her second collection DEAD ENDS at Little Andromeda in late 2025 with readings of UNDER THE BED, RIPE, and REBECCA'S BABY.
Featuring voice acting by Dan Bain and Josiah Morgan
Live music (double bass) by Michael Bell
Live show operation by James Shera.
**
Tickets to Laura's sessions at Auckland Writers Festival HERE
Buy Laura's first collection Sex, with animals HERE.
Buy her second collection Dead Ends HERE.
**
Angry Ladies is written and hosted by Laura Borrowdale.
Audio design, composition and production by Dan Bain.
Produced by Noosed Octopus, Theatre, etc in Ōtautahi Christchurch, NZ.
Koda and welcome to a special episode of the podcast. Last year I launched my new book, Dead Ends. The launch at Ottawahi's own little Andromeda was Kempy and Gothic. I built a fireplace filled with candles and called in my friends to help. We read three stories from Dead Ends Last Drinks, The Wall, and Rebecca's Baby. You'll hear the doctor tones of Dan Bain and Josiah Morgan, as well as the incredible talent of Michael Bell on the double bass, improvising the accompanying music live. I'm so excited to share these stories with you. The book is available online from Tinder Prest, in Auckland and Wellington at Unity Books, and in Christchurch at Scorpio Books. I hope you enjoy these as much as we enjoyed performing them. I'm Laura Borodale, and this is Incredibly. They click together gently as the fingers move their way up and down, searching. Henry, Michael, it's bedtime! Their mother's voice calls up the stairs, and Henry obediently gets to his feet. He stacks away his Legos, puts his car in the toy box at the foot of his bed, and pulls out his Superman pajamas from under his pillow. This happened every night. You know the rules, Michael. Get ready for bed. Henry takes off his pants and tugs his jersey over his head. He stands in his singlet beside his bed, pulling the blue and red flannelette over his legs.
SPEAKER_03Mom! It's a baby's bedtime. It's Henry's bedtime, not mine.
SPEAKER_00Michael, we're not going over this again. You share a room, you share a bedtime. It's not fair otherwise. His side of the room is a mess. Cars crashed into bed legs, books face down scattered around, cups piling up on the bedside table. There's no answer from his mother to his complaint. Henry knows their mother can hear him, but she has this discussion every night. And right now she'll have her head back in her book about to take another sip of her jitted tonic while she waits for ten more minutes before checking up on them. Henry hears the ice tinkle in the glass downstairs and then click, click as it's set on the table. The fingers pause as if listening. When they start moving again, they don't work side to side like before, but rather they start to creep towards the centre of the bed towards Henry. He holds his breath. The fingers are attached to a hand dark with hair and scabs. Henry's brother smiles. The hole in his front teeth black in his mouth.
SPEAKER_03And then, when you're not expecting it, they'll reach up from under the bed and grab you.
SPEAKER_00Henry stands next to the bathroom basin looking up at his brother, his pajamas wrinkled around his elbow. He's brushing his teeth. Except he stopped the actual brushing just after his brother's story had begun. Now he stands with the toothbrush clamped between his molars, his stomach liquid at his brother's story, his feet freezing against the cold tiles.
SPEAKER_02Isn't there one under your bed too?
SPEAKER_03Ah I'm too old. Your fresh your flesh toughens up. They're not so interested if you're old like me.
SPEAKER_00Flesh. Henry feels a shiver around his neck when Michael says that word. It sounds bloody and cold, like something you might find in a butcher's shop. Maybe flesh is the name for meat that comes from little boys, thinks Henry.
SPEAKER_02Why don't we just tell mum? Don't be stupid.
SPEAKER_03There are rules. Man, I can't believe no one's told you all of this before. I'm surprised you haven't been eaten already.
SPEAKER_00Michael turns back to the mirror, smirking at his gap-tooth reflection. Henry's eyes are still closed, but that doesn't stop him from seeing it grope its way towards him. And Henry remembers the rules.
SPEAKER_03Don't move, don't turn on the light, don't tell mum. Never let any part of yourself go off the edge of the bed if you play by the rules. It might touch you, but it won't know you're there.
SPEAKER_00Some of the hand scabs have flaked off against the blanket, and now there are spots of blood appearing in the white sheets. Henry wonders if opening his eyes counts as moving and decides he can't risk it. He takes a breath, drawing the air in as shallowly as possible. He can hear the nails clack louder as the hand gets closer, and there is the sound of breathing like slurping the last of a milkshake through a straw. Alright, you two. Finished with your teeth? You still going, Henry?
SPEAKER_03Yeah. Henry's a real slow coach tonight, Mum. Maybe you'll have to skip tucking him in.
SPEAKER_00Henry looks around, wide-eyed, at his mother. She laughs and rests her hands on his shoulder. It's okay, Henry. I'd never do that. This monster, on the other hand, she ruffles Michael's hair. Okay, let's get into bed. Rinse your teeth. They're shining beautifully, Henry. Henry holds her hand as they walk down the hallway to the bedroom.
SPEAKER_02Are you sure it's our bedtime, mum?
SPEAKER_00You too now, Henry, she laughs. Yes, I'm sure.
SPEAKER_02You don't want me to stay in your bed while Dad's on the night shift.
SPEAKER_00Ah, I'll be okay, love. It's more important that you get a good sleep, and that means in your own bed. His mother pulls back the covers for him. On the other side of the room, Michael is sitting on his bed, his earbuds in and a comic in his hand. He isn't watching, so Henry says, Are you really sure? Good night. Good night, darling. Stop worrying about me. I'll see you in the morning. She kisses the top of his head and pulls the covers up under his chin. Michael, ten minutes, that's all, she says. And she pulls the door closed and her shoes clatter down the wooden stairs. The hand gets closer. And finally, it touches the bulge of Henry's elbow under the bedclothes. It gropes at the lump, its nails ripping into the blankets, feeling the nubs of bone and skin. In the semi-darkness, Henry can see Michael get under his covers and open a book. He can hear his father say goodbye, and he can hear the car keys being picked out of the bowl by the front door. He can hear the door swing closed with a bang, and he hears Michael putting his book away.
SPEAKER_03Bye, Henry! Don't forget the rules! Sleep well.
SPEAKER_00Michael clicks off his light, and Henry curls into a ball. He lies on his side, his back at the wall, and his knees to his chest.
SPEAKER_02Don't move. Don't turn on the light. Don't tell mum.
SPEAKER_00The hand follows the shape of his arm up to his shoulder and then to his neck. And then it reaches for his face. Henry can smell it. It smells like the damp leaves he sometimes has to rake out of the corners of the garden. He can't bear it any longer, and he opens his eyes into the darkness. But there is nothing there. No hand. No blood on the sheets, no smell. He looks over at Michael triumphantly in the gloom. It isn't completely dark. Some light from the street lamp outside creeps in through the buffer of curtains, and he can see Michael asleep, one knee bent, one arm flung over the side of the bed. Maybe he'll tell him in the morning that that thing didn't get him. As he watches, he notices something moving near the bottom of Michael's bed. It's a hand. Along the ridges of bone, there are thick black tufts of hair, and Henry can see the trail of blood it is leaving on Michael's bedclothes as the hand works its way around the edge of the bed. Past the place where Michael's tented knee has pulled the covers away. Past the place where their mother has folded back the top sheet. And when it comes to Michael's arm, it stops. Then grips his wrist tightly, and then it starts to pull. Michael doesn't seem to wake up. His eyes stay closed, at least, but he's definitely aware of something. He starts to thrash in his bed, and his mouth is opening and closing as though he is screaming, even though he isn't making any noise. There is a rip as his pajamas are pulled away from his body. Blood starts to appear on Michael's shoulder as though the skin is starting to give way. He flings his body around, and as one foot slips over the edge of the bed, another hand reaches out to grab it. Henry doesn't think the two hands belong to one body, but rather there is more than one under Michael's bed. Which means there could easily be another one under his. The hands work their way further up Michael's limbs, getting a good hold, and then tugging hard to pull Michael closer to them. His face looks frantic now, his eyes are still closed, the hands holding his bloody shoulder and his hip, and they give a final pull. Michael tumbles out of his bed. There is a thump as he hits the floor, and Henry thinks he hears a groan, but that is soon followed by crunching and snapping and sucking. He isn't sure if the groan was Michael's. After all, there are rules.
SPEAKER_02Don't move. Don't turn on the light. Don't tell mum. And most of all, don't go over the edge of the bed.
SPEAKER_00Right. I've never been a man who wanted to fight. Instead, I smile and spread my hands wide, showing how little I have. Nobody wants how little I have. But when the outsider came, she had even less than I. She came up the dusty hill path with eyes ringed red and children black with dirt. The largest of the children carried a long stick with water bottles, the kind from before, strung across it. The bottles blew lightly in the wind and knocked together with hollow noises as the children moved.
SPEAKER_02What are you doing?
SPEAKER_00I said, standing up straight from my task. I left my garden terrace, the lowest in the village, and walked out to the path. I held the hoe in one hand and stood with my chest thrust forward. We need help, she said. Not much. Just water. My children are thirsty. She stopped, and the children collected around her skirts, peering at me. They pulled her clothing tight in their fear, and I saw her womanly shape, the curve of her thigh and her buttock, and they pressed against her all the more tightly, like maggots to a dead rabbit.
SPEAKER_02Just water.
SPEAKER_00Please, she said.
SPEAKER_02I don't have any to spare.
SPEAKER_00But you're growing tomatoes, she said, and she looked across my garden with those eyes, greedy and desperate. I could see how the garden looked to her. I'm no fool. I could see how lush it looked, how abundant. The red tomatoes hung like jewels from fleshy green stems. The strawberries and buckets were heavy in their shrouds of black netting. Under the ground, orange and white tubers grew large, throwing out the green ferns above. But I'd worked hard for this. This water wasn't just given to me. I had gathered the plastic scraps to gather the dew and the rain, and I'd scurried like a spider between them every morning, adding the water to my can. I gave my plants water even when I did not give it to myself. They needed to come first, or I would have nothing to offer the village. No way to keep myself from being forced out beyond its protection.
SPEAKER_02The tomatoes are mine. I need what I have to care for them.
SPEAKER_00I have nothing, she said. I need help to care for these. Her hands wrapped around her children's head, but I did not look at them.
SPEAKER_02No. You need to go back where you came from.
SPEAKER_00I cannot. There is nothing there. The woman looked up at me. I could see her neck, the hollow of a collarbone, the dip before the rise of her breasts.
SPEAKER_02There's nothing here for you either.
SPEAKER_00I stepped forward into the road, brandishing my hoe. This place does not belong to you. The woman looked at the ground. Please, she whispered. I do not know how much longer we can walk.
SPEAKER_02I cannot help you.
SPEAKER_00She picked up the smallest child who clutched at her back as hands like claws. She turned to walk away down the path, and then she looked back at me through narrowed eyes. We should come back at night and take all of those precious tomatoes, she said. We should trample your garden to dust and leave you with as much as we have. Get out of here. I swung the hoe and the woman stepped away down the path.
SPEAKER_02Get out! I do not need to sleep, I'll watch for you.
SPEAKER_00That afternoon, three soldiers came down from the higher levels of the village. I stopped my work and bent low at my gate to show them respect. So low the dust from the path stuck to the sweat on my brow. You may stand. I lifted my forehead from the ground. The group of men parted, and the leader's son stepped forward. He wore the necklace of his father, its metal links bright and oiled.
SPEAKER_03We know what you did.
SPEAKER_02Sir I'm sorry, but I could not let her take what is mine.
SPEAKER_00The leader's son looked at me, and he saw my faults. I could not read his judgment, but his face was like polished stone, smooth and reflective, merely showing me myself. Did he judge my fear of that woman? Did he see the spark of lust I felt, knowing my own power against her?
SPEAKER_03We know. And we are pleased.
SPEAKER_00I saw that I had done the right thing. And I saw myself in his eyes as a man who protected what was his and by turns had protected the community. A man the leader could rely on.
SPEAKER_03But you cannot be all that keeps us from being overrun. I'll leave men here to support you and tomorrow we'll build a wall around a hill to prevent this from happening again.
SPEAKER_00I bowed down, low, so low my forehead touched the earth. I heard the men's feet move, and I called down.
SPEAKER_02Please, sir, wait.
SPEAKER_00I lifted my head so I could peer up, and I could see that the leader's son had stopped.
SPEAKER_03Yes.
SPEAKER_00He spoke slowly, as though he would not like what came next.
SPEAKER_02Please, sir. Take these to your father. They are a poor gift, but I have nothing else to offer.
SPEAKER_00I gathered tomatoes and berries, thick green heads of lettuce from my garden, filling a basket with my most beautiful produce. The leader's son looked at the basket.
SPEAKER_03My father values meat. Why not this? But I'll take it, and he may have a purpose for it.
SPEAKER_00He gestured at his men. Two stood at the gate of my garden, and the other lifted the basket onto his shoulders. I bowed again, and the leader's son and his soldier walked back up the hill. That night, I slept with dreams of scuffling feet in the dust paths, of plastic sheeting ripping, of the outsiders' bottles full thudding together. I woke hot and slick and panicky. I left my bed and walked outside to check my plants, but the two soldiers at the gate turned me back. From inside the hut, I could hear them laugh quietly in the blackness, and I knew I was safe. The next day, men came to cut down the trees. They took the ones from around my house, the olive trees I had planted that had not yet fruited. The apple trees were too small to use, but they were too close to the new wall. So they were felled too. They took the trunks and sharpened stakes to drive into the ground to build a wall to protect me better. The trees were so small once they had been stripped of their branches and leaves. I knew they were more valuable as part of the wall, but I grieved for what they might have offered me, for the olive oil I might have traded for meat. Each night I slept more soundly. The men gathered wood from the hillside below my gardens, and the wall grew and grew. I watched without speaking as they helped themselves to my garden. But I knew that I was safe from the outsiders who would surely come back. When the men left, my garden was empty, but I was protected by the wall. I had done the right thing because it protected us all, even though I no longer had apples to store for winter or fallen branches to burn the fire when it grew cold. It was hard to get the garden back in order. I did not have enough time to build my stores as I usually did. I hoarded water, the cans, wire handles cutting red stripes into my fingers, and I trickled it carefully into the root balls of my plants. The water soaked into the soil, beads of preciousness that seeped down into the dark roots of the plants as though it was never there. I watched the leaves unfurl and I willed them to grow faster, to grow before winter, each small green stem a triumph and a safe one because I had the wall, one that stretched around the entire village. In winter, my stocks ran bare. I wiped my face and put on my best clothes and I began to walk up the hill to the leader's house. The path does not run straight up, but rather around the hill, and I had to walk out of sight of my garden. As I walked past my neighbour's house, he stepped outside, his butcher's apron and hands bloody. I could hear the animals bleating in the pens behind the house. Once I had the chance to eat the lamb he had prepared, and it lingered. Fatty, crusted in salt in my mouth and in my memory, even as I went back to my tomatoes. What are you doing? He was angry and he held his cutting knife in his right hand. His face was red.
SPEAKER_02I'm going to the leader. What right of you?
SPEAKER_00He takes a step towards me.
SPEAKER_02It's me, the tomato grower.
SPEAKER_00My neighbor looked at me. His face showed me what he thought as he looked at my dusty clothes, the red cut marks on my outstretched hands, the sunburn from working long hours.
SPEAKER_03So it is.
SPEAKER_00He put down his knife.
SPEAKER_02That you have no business going to the leader. But I must. I gave my trees and my crop to build the wall, and now I have none. That is your problem.
SPEAKER_03Not the leaders. What do you need? Thank you, brother.
SPEAKER_00I bowed low on the gr on the road, so the dust anointed my forehead.
SPEAKER_02I have nothing left to eat. The men ate it all.
SPEAKER_03Would you do nothing? I am offering to feed you to you. I need what I have for my family. The fault lies not with our leader. He works only to keep us safe. The fault lies with the men. You must go to the commander.
SPEAKER_00My stomach grumbled, and my neighbor turned away from me. I saw his wife in the doorway, a singular dark eye winking in the light, her blonde hair catching the sunlight. My neighbor followed my glance and he scowled. I turned and began to walk. Not up the hill, but around it to the commander. I knew him by his necklace of bones, which rattle and clack as he walks. Some have hung around his neck for so long they have become polished and as smooth as ivory. I bowed low in his doorway, so low that I pressed my body against the ground. He grunted and said to the man beside him, See what he wants. The man tapped my shoulder and I crouched in front of him.
SPEAKER_02I am the tomato grower. I have no food left as the men ate it as they built the wall. I ask for your grace and kindness to help me.
SPEAKER_03We do not suffer beggars.
SPEAKER_00Although I knew that was not what I was, I stayed on my knees, looking at the ground. I was silent and hungry.
SPEAKER_03We will set you to work. You can earn your food.
SPEAKER_02Gladly. I work hard in the garden to grow the food to feed the bodies of your army.
SPEAKER_03That is not work. You dabble. You water some plants, then. Sit back and watch them grow. That is nothing. You must work in my army. You must march the boundary of our walls and keep our people safe.
SPEAKER_04That is work. When you put others before yourself.
SPEAKER_02I will work.
SPEAKER_00The wall was poorly made, and wood was scarce, so we were needed to patrol it. We walked the boundary, stopping to shore up the parts that were tumbling down and to shake our weapons at those who might try to sneak through the gaps. I could no longer care for my garden, but I saw it as I passed by. At first, I begged to water my plants, but I was not allowed. And slowly the garden died until I could see the dust dance along the pathways between the beds, the dried leaves of the plants shattering in the sun. We walked this way around the village until months slowly turned from one to another. As it grew colder and food grew scarcer, until there was hardly anything left to feed us. In the evenings, we sat outside the wall around fires and talked about what our lives had been like inside the wall.
SPEAKER_03I had a wife. She found another man when I could not find food for the children to eat. But now I am here, but maybe that is better. Well you're better for her.
SPEAKER_02I had food. When I could, I would trade for meat and cook it slowly and watch the juices drip down onto the plate below. I'd mop them up with bread.
SPEAKER_00The men sat quietly at this. When the broth was ladled out for our supper, two men argued over who got more. I kept my head down, raising my mug to my mouth quietly, so that no one looked to me to offer mine up. I considered the butcher who lived beside me with his wife at his meat. I thought about their juices running into my mouth. I swallowed my broth. The next morning, there was no food for breakfast. The patrol leaders stood in a line. They carried batons in their dark belts. They told us to prepare to march. But we were hungry and sullen. One man stepped forward.
SPEAKER_03You must feed us first.
SPEAKER_00What did you say? The first patrol leader hissed the last word like a snake.
SPEAKER_03I am hungry and I have not been fed. There are things that must be done.
SPEAKER_00He sat down in the dust in front of the officer, cross-legged to plant his body into the earth.
SPEAKER_03I will not move until we are treated fairly.
SPEAKER_00The patrol leader stepped out and around the man, standing behind him, his baton in one hand, gently thudding into the palm of the other.
SPEAKER_03What would you have us do? We march for days and see no danger, said the man on the ground. But then will we starve and never see our families, never see the things we're guarding.
SPEAKER_00His voice began to lift and pitch to get louder.
SPEAKER_03I do not believe there is a threat. I do not believe you treat us fairly.
SPEAKER_00I do not believe The patrol leader's baton came down hard on the back of his head. There was a thud, then a noise like a ripe tomato splattering the baked earth. The man fell, jerked on the ground like a fish, then lay still. We could smell the wetness seeping through his pants. But we stood quietly, looking at the ground, looking at the officers. I have never been a man who wanted to fight. Instead, I smile and spread my hands wide, showing how little I have. But sometimes it is not enough. My eyes slid across to the man beside me. He glanced back at me, then towards the ground, and he shook his head.
SPEAKER_03What was that?
SPEAKER_00The patrol m patrol leader moved like a dog to fallen food. But do you have something to say? He lifted the chin of the man beside me with his baton. Do you disagree with me? The other patrol leaders stood at the front, their faces impassive. The man beside me shook his head, his eyes lowered.
SPEAKER_03I think you do. I think you are communicating dissent to those around you.
SPEAKER_00The man beside me shook his head, the batons still hard under his chin, and tears began to run down his cheeks.
SPEAKER_03It wasn't me, patrol leader!
SPEAKER_00The patrol leader turned to me.
SPEAKER_03Or was it him? Or was it you? It wasn't me.
SPEAKER_00I could feel my muscles shake.
SPEAKER_03Then it must have been him. He will need to be punished. Don't you agree?
SPEAKER_02It wasn't him.
SPEAKER_03It was him or it was you. Which is it?
SPEAKER_00I looked down.
SPEAKER_03If it was him, he must be punished. Here.
SPEAKER_00And he held out his baton.
SPEAKER_03You must punish him or be punished yourself.
SPEAKER_00I took the baton. The man beside me shook. I looked at him and piss ran down my leg and into my shoes.
SPEAKER_03You are him.
SPEAKER_00I raised the baton. I wondered, did he judge my fear in this moment? Did he see the spark of desperate power I felt knowing I could save myself? Knowing what I would do to save myself. I closed my eyes and thought of my garden of my tomatoes. I brought the baton down again and again and again and again. Around me, the rest of the men roared. They surged forward, kicking and beating the man beside me as he lay on the ground. He was still and silent when the patrol leaders shouted stop and stepped forward to force us back. The patrol leader looked across the group, daring someone to raise their eyes. We stood with our heads bowed. He tapped me on the shoulder with his battery.
SPEAKER_03You will take these men to the gate and string them up for the outsiders to see. They will know fear if they see a wall of bodies.
SPEAKER_00One shoe was pulled off in the dust, but I didn't stop to pick it up. His body was already beginning to smell like sickness and sweetness. His body was leaking, bloody froth from his ears and mouth. I hung the body where I was told to. I looped the rope around his torso and under his armpits a harness rather than a noose. When I had hauled him high, he swung, the one boot he had left softly knocking on the wall. We walk for days. We scavenge for food as we go, but there is never enough. There are always more bodies. They are always ours. The corpses of our comrades hang on the wall, left to discolor, bloat, and be consumed by flies. The white, wriggling bodies of maggots fall into the grass below. We eat what grows beneath our hung comrades. When I sleep, my bones hard against the earth. I dream of tomatoes, fat with liquid bursting into the cavity of my mouth. I can smell the sweet acid, feel the skin tight like a drum beneath my fingers. When I wake, I look to the man at my left, and he is still, so still he could be dead, his face gaunt, the skin pulling tight to the bones of his face. Soon the bodies on the wall will be bones, and so will we. Look at it, I tell the plunkett nurse. I wipe my fingers across the top of the baby's head, holding them out to show her the residue the baby leaves everywhere it goes. The plunkett nurse has set up her baby scales in the centre of the living room. She kneels on the floor, surrounded by the things middle-class mothers are given when they have a baby. The bouncer net. A mobile hung with hand-stitched organic felt animals. Wooden chew toys from the Steiner shop. A pile of unused cloth nappies beside a plastic packet of disposables, its side ripped open and its cascade its contents cascading from their neat stack onto the carpet.
SPEAKER_02How long have you been feeling like this, Rosemary?
SPEAKER_00She looks over her shoulder at me. I lean against the door and cross my arms. I reply to the plunket nurse. I'm not feeling like anything, it's just the truth. The baby is still wailing. Its molten face, angry black ooze covers its body, dripping from its scrunched up cheeks.
SPEAKER_02What a beautiful baby.
SPEAKER_00How can you even say that? She glances at me and then back to the baby. She smiles and gurgles at it, picks it up, cradles it in one arm, raises the other to wave her fingers at it.
SPEAKER_02Is the baby sleeping well?
SPEAKER_00She puts the baby on the scales. The baby screams. Baby isn't doing anything well.
SPEAKER_02Baby is gaining weight, Rosemary.
SPEAKER_00She turns back to the baby.
SPEAKER_02Doing so well, aren't you?
SPEAKER_00She pulls out a measuring tape and wraps it around the baby's head.
SPEAKER_02Growing like a champion.
SPEAKER_00The baby cries again. Oh, you just want mummy, don't you? The measuring tape peels off the baby as though it had been glued on.
SPEAKER_02There you go, nearly done, and then you can go back to mum.
SPEAKER_00She shuffles to her feet, leans down, and picks up the crying baby. There's a wet noise as she does, and the baby squelches from the scale tray strings of ooze like pizza cheese dangling from it. The nurse walks over to me and holds the baby out. I grasp it under its arms, the slime seeping through its onesie at the pressure of my touch. I shudder, pulling it close to me. It begins to nuzzle at my breast, still emitting yawling cries.
SPEAKER_02There's nothing wrong with your baby, love. But we probably need to get you to the doctor. I'm going to check in tomorrow, and I'd like for you to have made an appointment by then, please. Bob probably just needs a feed.
SPEAKER_00I look at the plunket nurse. Her clothes have a large grease stain across the front from where she's held the baby. Holding the baby with one arm, I open my shirt and it begins to feed. The black, oily mouth clamps over my nipple. I feel like I'm being sucked into its slimy vortex. I don't deny the baby though. It isn't the baby's fault, it is what it is. It's my fault. It's Guy's. It's Rebecca's. The plunket nurse packs up her things.
SPEAKER_02I'll see myself out.
SPEAKER_00I hear the front door click as she leaves, and I'm alone again with the baby.
SPEAKER_02At the birth.
SPEAKER_00In the birthing suite, the nurse lifts the wet baby off my chest and wraps it in a flannel blanket. She places it in a see-through cot beside my bed, one high enough that I'll be able to reach it from where I lie. The nurse turns back to the trolley she's wheeled in and places a glutinous plate of stew, soggy green beans, and dry mashed potato on the overbed table.
SPEAKER_02You've done well. A lot of work bringing a baby into the world.
SPEAKER_00She turns to pick up a kidney bowl of washcloths and needles.
SPEAKER_02You eat that, and we'll just get maybe tidied up and wait. We'll be back in a moment.
SPEAKER_00The light is startling. The overhead fluorescents are back on after the darkness of the birthing room. I feel both numb and aching. There is a pang as though a thread has snagged on my insides and is tugging them to follow the baby. The food does not seem to fill the aching gap in the middle of me. I push it in, my body taking over. It's gone too fast, and I have to catch myself before I lick the plate. Guy stands at the foot of my bed, staring at his phone. Have you told your mum? I say.
SPEAKER_03I thought I'd um wait for the details about weights from the nurse.
SPEAKER_00What are you doing then? There's only one other reason he'd be on his phone. Are you texting Rebecca again?
SPEAKER_03No.
SPEAKER_00He clicks off the screen and slides into his pocket.
SPEAKER_03Well well. No. Uh but I wanted to let the kids know. So I had to text her. And you know, it's been difficult ever since you messaged her. So uh I was just trying to smooth it over.
SPEAKER_00So you were. You were literally in here with me, and you're still thinking about her. Guy moves up to the head of the bed.
SPEAKER_03Sweetheart, you're overreacting. Let's just focus on what's going on right now.
SPEAKER_00Are you still hungry? Was I mean to get you something more? The plate gleams on the table. I had resisted licking it, but it is evident where I had slid my finger through the watery gravy. No, I just want my baby and my husband. I'm close to tears. My body is still sweaty and damp from birthing the baby. Lank, stranded. Of hair are stuck to my forehead. Guy leans forward and brushes them away, kisses me.
SPEAKER_03I know sweet.
SPEAKER_00You've got us.
SPEAKER_03The baby will be back soon, you know? Right here.
SPEAKER_00He squeezes my arm and the nurse brings the baby back to us.
SPEAKER_02We gave Bob a bit of a wash love. We wouldn't usually, but we were worried. There was a bit of meconium on the skin. It doesn't seem like that's what it was, though, and the baby is completely healthy, so we thought you'd like a cuddle and a feed.
SPEAKER_00The baby is wrapped in a white blanket. As the nurse adjusts her grip to pass me the baby, I can see that the blanket is turning grey and damp. She sees what I'm looking at.
SPEAKER_02We've actually just changed it for a fresh one. I will send another through.
SPEAKER_00The nurse smiles down at the baby and puts it in my arms. It's not my baby, I say. It can't be.
SPEAKER_02What do you mean, love? Of course it is. See the ID bracelet. We put that on before we left the room. This is your baby.
SPEAKER_00Guy reaches over to touch my shoulder.
SPEAKER_03Oh babies look funny with their first out. The baby's perfect, honestly. It's just your hormones going crazy.
SPEAKER_00I touch the baby's head with my fingers. It's tacky. And when I pull my fingers away, the residue between them makes a sticky web. Is it supposed to be so uh wet?
SPEAKER_02I ask. That's just babies. Some of this is burns. It protects them in the womb.
SPEAKER_00But what about the rest of it? They haven't said anything about this black stuff in our antenatal class. The nurse looks over at Guy and smiles.
SPEAKER_02You mothers always worrying. You've got older children, I understand.
SPEAKER_00Guy nods absent-mindedly. He's standing at my shoulder, gazing adoringly down at the baby. Can you see it too? I say. The baby looks just like Rebecca.
SPEAKER_02Toward the end of the pregnancy.
SPEAKER_00At the kitchen sink, I take the chunks of raw steak and place them one at a time in my mouth. I rest my swollen pregnant stomach against the lip of the bench, leaning over the sink. I can feel the baby squirm against the hard edge, each bite of bloody meat, another deposit into the bank of its body. The meat is sinewy, the strands getting caught between my molars, the fat remaining a stubborn lump that I have to eventually swallow whole before placing the next piece in my mouth. Guys in the sitting room, expecting that I'm cooking this meat for dinner, but I look down and it's gone. Just the tray is left, with the glad wrap torn away from the center where I ripped it. The blood from the steak has pulled into the honeycomb cells of the plastic. I insert the tip of my tongue into each little well, drawing the blood up like a mosquito. He's on his phone again. And my anger is dark and salty and bloody like the meat. His phone means Rebecca. How's Don? I hear the floor creak as he stands, his footfall as he walks into the kitchen behind me. I I think we might need to get takeaways. The meat was off.
SPEAKER_03Really? I spought it yesterday. Let me look.
SPEAKER_00Guy looks over my shoulder and sees the empty packet.
SPEAKER_03Where is it?
SPEAKER_00I put it down the insyncorator. It smelled funny.
SPEAKER_03You know, that might just have been a pregnancy thing. Rebecca used to smell weird things when she was pregnant. I think the meat was fine. But also, uh, you can't put that down the incinerator. The fat will clog it.
SPEAKER_00Guy starts to roll up his sleeves, peering into the drain hole. I stand back and lick my lips. I don't want to hear about Rebecca tonight, Guy. For once, can't it just be about me? My tone makes Guy retreat from the sink. He wipes his hands on a tea towel.
SPEAKER_03It didn't mean anything, just that it's a common symptom. Why don't we just get takeaways and said, you uh put your feet up and I'll I'll pop out for some time. Pant Thai, green curry, what do you feel like?
SPEAKER_00Guy rushes out the door like he is desperate to be away from me. I sit down on the couch and feel something hard at my back. It's Guy's phone. And I know his passcode is his oldest child's birthday. I open his text messages. There are multiple unread messages and a conversation. He clearly only left when he came into the kitchen. The top message is a photograph of Guy and Rebecca's two oldest children on a skiing trip that I know Guy paid for. They're all beaming at the camera, teeth as white as the snow behind them. And below it, Rebecca has written XX. I push reply.
SPEAKER_02Early in the pregnancy.
SPEAKER_00From my seat on the toilet, I reach over and balance the pregnancy test on the edge of the sink. I scroll Guy's Instagram account while I wait for the pee to slowly creep up the testing pad. I scroll back to before Guy's divorce, clicking on any post with Rebecca in them, using my fingers to stretch the image bigger as though I'm pulling her face apart. She has perfect teeth, high cheekbones, and long brunette hair with curtain bangs that curl alluringly at her cheekbones. She looks like a Nordic princess, or at the very least, a British one. I hate her. I hate her for marrying Guy, for having children, for being beautiful, for being first and best. I examine their body language, his hand on her hip in a wedding photo, their proud heads bent over their babies, the posed family photographs on the beach, all dressed in various shades of beige. Their divorce isn't evidenced at all. They smile right up until Rebecca no longer appears. Or when she does, the kids are placed strategically between her and Guy. And then for a while he just has landscape images. And then there are selfies with me. You okay in there? I look up from my phone. The test beside me has two blue lines.
SPEAKER_02At the conception.
SPEAKER_00Guy sweats above me, perspiration beating on his forehead. I moan in the way that I know he thinks I'm going to come, but is really just about making him come faster. I push my hips up against him, gripping his back with my hands. I don't care about getting off, I care about getting pregnant. He's also trying to get through this as fast as he can. He has his eyes locked closed and his forehead is wrinkled with exertion. I take his hand and brush his fingers across my nipple and then hold them so they cut the roundness. I moan again, rock faster as though I'm not simply going through the motions. Guy shudders and whimpers. His breath is shallow and hot in my ear.
SPEAKER_03Oh god, Rebecca.
SPEAKER_00I freeze. Mid grind above him. I pull back and we lock eyes. Guy looks away.
SPEAKER_03I mean, Rosemary.
SPEAKER_00I roll off him and lie on my back. His semen and his thoughts of Rebecca slide backwards towards my womb.
SPEAKER_03Uh baby was an accident.
SPEAKER_00He rolls onto his side and slides a hand across my belly.
SPEAKER_03Yeah, it's just habit, you know.
SPEAKER_00I lie as still as I can. My anger turning over in my stomach is thick and viscous as tar. She's always here, you know, I say.
SPEAKER_03What do you mean you've only met her once or twice?
SPEAKER_00I mean she's always present because you're always thinking about her. Or you're on the phone to her. Or you have to go into the school with her because the kids have done something. Like, when does it just get to be me and our new family? Why does your old one need to be present so fucking much? Guy goes still. He pulls his hand away from me.
SPEAKER_03My kids matter, you know? Yeah, I'm not abandoning them. Just because I left their mother.
SPEAKER_00But you haven't left her. She's still here. It's like she ran through your life with greasy fingers. I can see her everywhere. The guy rolls over. His back is loud in the darkness.
SPEAKER_03She's the mother of my children, Rosemary. What am I supposed to do? I can't just cut her out.
SPEAKER_02Back in the present moment.
SPEAKER_00I try to unlatch the baby from my breast, but its jaws clamp shut. I can't slip a finger into its mouth to break the seal, and I think about just letting go, letting it fall to my lap or the floor. Its eyes, Rebecca's eyes, watch me, its goo face glistening. I pull it away from me, the skin of my breast pulling painfully taut. The baby comes off in a squelch. Its face already screwed up into a whale. I put it into the cot and ignoring the crying, I strip my clothes off, run the shower hot, and stand under the water. It beads across my body where I've held the baby. When I open my wardrobe, I choose a dress from before. Before the baby, before Rebecca, before Guy. It slides over my head, the silken fabric sliding down my body with a dry rustle. I brush my hair and slick my face with gloss and mascara. At the front door, I pause to pick up my bag. Behind me, the baby screams and screams. I open the door and step through. It closes with a click. I message Guy, you should probably come home. And I walk down the path and out the gate. Wait a little bit for the fucking mum. Thank you so much, everybody. Um, my heaven in time, my deathline, just fine morning, my hope bell, enemy bullet, and enemy lady, and me, Lord Bardell. Um I have this written down, so I don't forget anything. Um, thanks to Lovin and Dromata for their theatre for their support with this event, particularly James Sherman, who has operated the job. And Kanye McCallaghan, who is the bar manager. Internight is her last night. She is a crucial part of this place, and we will miss her. So please um give her your love when you buy a drink. This event wouldn't be possible without Damp Bane's expert knowledge and time um spent. One person scoring and producing this event, doing everything to make it happen. I also need to say a really, really huge thank you to TenderPress, my publisher. Um Ash and Stacy have travelled to be here tonight, and they have been endlessly patient with my anxiety. Um, very kind and generous, and without them, dead ends just wouldn't exist. Um, also, if you liked this show, you might enjoy my podcast. Also, it's gonna produce my dampen. Um, it's called Angry Ladies, and you can get it wherever you get your podcasts. Um, and I will see you in the foyer. Please buy a book and a drink. Thank you very much. Both of you, so cool. I forgot the wings did an extension thing. Thanks for listening. If you enjoyed the episode, please recommend the podcast to someone else who might enjoy it.
People on this episode
Podcasts we love
Check out these other fine podcasts recommended by us, not an algorithm.
Dan Bain's Sleepy Time Mumbles
Noosed Octopus: Theatre, etc