When Grace Went Away Page 13
‘Thanks, then I will go to bed. It’s been a long and disconcerting day.’
‘Is there anything I can get you?’
‘I don’t think so, Carol. You’ve been so kind.’
‘You would have done the same for me,’ she said, and with surprise I realised I would have.
‘I have sleeping tablets, if you’d like. You look as if you could use a solid night’s sleep. It’s bloody awful when you’re knackered and all you do is toss and turn.’
‘You have sleeping pills?’ I said, trying not to sound too eager.
‘I’ll get them,’ she said, disappearing in the direction of her bedroom and returning moments later. She passed me a small, plastic pill bottle. I glanced at the label, recognising the mild prescription sedative. I’d taken them before, in that God-awful time after Luke’s death. I wondered why Carol needed them.
‘I’ll get you a drink,’ she said. ‘You use the bathroom first if you need it. I put a towel on your bed.’
‘Thanks.’ The word seemed inadequate for everything she’d done for me.
With a glass of water and the pills I headed towards the guest room.
‘What time do you get up?’ I said, pausing. ‘I don’t want to be a nuisance and hold you up.’
‘I’m working in the morning. Up at six to clean the hotel. You get out of bed whenever you feel like it. Leave when you’re ready. I’ll be home about eleven.’
‘I’ll be on my way relatively early,’ I said, smothering another yawn. My face felt congested with tiredness, and my eyes prickled.
‘No worries, love. Just close the front door on your way out.’
‘Thank you,’ I whispered, and said goodnight.
When I woke at one am it took me a few sickening seconds to work out where I was. I went to the toilet and, not wanting to risk sleeplessness, washed down another sleeping pill, which is probably why I didn’t wake until 9.43 the following morning.
Dragging on the same clothes for the third day in a row, I splashed cold water on my face and brushed my teeth. At least I had clean knickers.
I stripped the bed, put the sheets and towel in the laundry and re-packed my meagre belongings into the supermarket bag.
The house was silent, alien. For some reason I was tip-toeing.
Carol had set out breakfast things, but I had the most powerful urge to put Miners Ridge behind me as quickly as I could. She’d been so generous and thoughtful, but that did nothing to alleviate the awkwardness of the situation.
For some reason I couldn’t think clearly while I was in Miners Ridge, and that led me to do stupid things. First the local cop had to sort me out, and now Carol had come to my rescue.
My mistakes of the past were so close when I was here, too. Every place I looked was familiar, many came with memories, some pleasant and some painful. There were faces I recognised.
In my gut, I knew my salvation was here—whether it was to forgive or be forgiven, or both. And regardless of it taking me eight years to get this far, I felt as if I needed more time before I went any further. Now what I needed was some distance to restore my perspective.
After dashing off a note to Carol thanking her for her kind hospitality, I grabbed my handbag and plastic bag. On my way out I noticed the framed family photographs on the walls of the entrance hall—professional studio shots by the looks of them, with tasteful frames. What a state I’d been in not to see them the night before.
There was April with her three, and Louise with a boyishly handsome man who must have been her husband and their daughter Emma. I did a double take when I recognised her as the girl from the bakery who I’d helped reach the bread. She was smiling again, staring out at me with those clear, blue eyes. I found myself smiling back and thinking that Louise must have married young.
Chiding my whimsy, I slammed the front door, double-checking it was locked on the way out.
Not sparing the town a backward glance, I drove out like I was being pursued.
It was one of those clear winter days, the ones that I adore: the sky crisply blue and scattered with fluffy white clouds, the colours of the winter landscape vibrant.
My body screamed for caffeine. With the car needing fuel, I stopped off in Clare, where I had arrived in record time. After filling the tank, I found a car park and looked for somewhere to buy coffee.
There were people everywhere. A tempting savoury smell in the air made my mouth water. Wandering down the main street I spied the sausage sizzle happening next to the butcher shop, the source of the appetising smell.
Why not? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten a hot snag wrapped in a slice of white bread, oozing with tomato sauce. Not exactly a healthy meal but who cared.
Standing on the footpath I gobbled the sausage in bread and watched the Saturday morning shoppers bustle in and out of the shops. No one paid me any attention, and while I was grateful for the anonymity, it added to my increasing sense of disconnection.
Nowhere had the feel of home. Miners Ridge might hold the answers but would it ever feel like home again? I didn’t belong anywhere. Nobody needed me. I had no purpose, no direction.
Ready tears backed up quickly, and I nearly gagged on the last mouthful of food. I threw the scraps into the bin.
There was a cafe opposite. I ordered a large takeaway cappuccino, then changed my mind and sat at one of the tables outside on the footpath to drink it. The waitress stared at me pointedly. I smiled and sipped slowly.
On the way back to the car, knowing my fridge at the unit was bare, I went into the fruit and veg shop and stocked up. Somehow, produce bought in the country seemed healthier, although realistically it was no fresher than the stuff I bought at the market in Adelaide.
On a whim I drove the long way round, through Gawler and into the city. The urgency to put distance between myself and Miners Ridge had passed, and now I was in no hurry to get home to an empty unit. So much so, I stopped off in Gawler to do the grocery shopping, and then take the car through the car wash.
I contemplated going to the movies, briefly. But I had perishables in the car and couldn’t put off going home any longer.
When I let myself in through the front door, the first thing I noticed was my mobile phone sitting on the table. Funny, I hadn’t even realised I’d left it behind. Picking it up I discovered there was a heap of missed calls from Grace, two from Tim, and three voice messages.
Ah, they’d obviously discovered I’d been running amok in Miners Ridge.
I put down the phone without listening to the messages. They could wait a while longer. My reserves were at an all-time low, and I felt nauseous at the thought of answering the barrage of questions I knew I’d get. And then there’d be the advice. Well-intentioned, I knew, but I didn’t have the stomach for it at that moment.
Besides, Grace would be sound asleep at this hour, and there was Tim’s history of never picking up when I rang. I’d made a pact with myself on the way home: if he didn’t answer when I rang, in the future I wouldn’t leave any messages.
There was the car to unpack, the yoghurt, milk and sliced corned beef that needed to go into the fridge. I desperately wanted a hot shower and change of clothes, and perhaps a nap, a couple of hours respite from my circling thoughts. After all that I’d make up my mind whose call I’d return first, and what questions I’d answer, if any.
20
Grace
‘What?’ Grace murmured, staring at the blinking computer screen. Deft fingers clicked across the keyboard, her heart rate slowing marginally when she’d corrected the glaring errors.
She scanned an earlier, printed version of the report on the desk beside her. Funny, there were no errors there. Imagine if she hadn’t scrolled through for one last check before the meeting in the morning.
Eyes glued to the screen, Grace eased back in her office chair, rolling her lips together. The file was in the Dropbox folder, so anyone on the team could have accessed it. But why had it been changed? Nothing like this h
ad happened before. Was it an honest mistake, or was someone setting her up for a fall?
Grace quickly sorted through the members of her team, contemplating who’d benefit the most from making her look foolish. She stood up with an exasperated huff. It was probably just a mistake, but from now on she’d be even more vigilant.
Standing in her office doorway, she glanced up and down the dim corridor. The receptionist and most of the other staff had left long ago. All she could hear were building noises and the hum of the air-conditioning. Then muffled voices from an office several doors away, and she realised she wasn’t there on her own.
Halfway to the lunch room to make herself another cup of tea, Grace changed her mind, stopped, turned around and walked back to her office. Like a robot she shut down everything, grabbed her shoulder bag, laptop and coat, and closed her door.
‘I’m off,’ she called to whoever, and didn’t get an answer. She could hear the photocopier going in the photocopy room.
Jostling for a seat on the tube, Grace yawned, wondering if she should see a doctor and have a check-up. Tired all the time, she wasn’t sleeping well either, and her weight had dropped. She couldn’t remember the last check-up she’d had. It was probably when she’d first been with Grant and had needed a script for the pill.
Wow, that made it well over two years ago. First thing tomorrow she’d find a GP and make an appointment.
Grace wove her way through the commuters, tempted by the lined-up taxis but the sun hadn’t set and she didn’t get enough exercise. Or sunlight. Or fresh air. Or fruit and vegetables.
Grace startled when, only a short distance from the apartment, Grant fell into step beside her.
‘Where did you spring from?’
‘I was right behind you at the office. I called out but you didn’t hear me. Then I lost you. If you look at your phone you’ll find a missed call and a text.’
‘Oh, sorry. I stopped at Tesco’s.’ She thrust the carry bag of groceries towards him. ‘Here, you can carry this, please? And what are you doing here? Did Lucy let you off the leash?’
‘Mmm,’ he said. He held open the door to the apartment building with his spare hand after she’d swiped with her keycard. ‘Things have kind of cooled off, you know how it is.’
‘Yeah, I can imagine. Lucy realised you’re almost old enough to be her father, and not a fast track to the top like she first thought.’
‘Ouch,’ Grant said, screwing up his face as he stabbed at the lift button. ‘You sure don’t mince your words, Grace. It’s something I’ve always admired about you.’
The lift came and they stepped inside. She threw him a quick sideways glance, not certain if she’d detected sarcasm somewhere in there.
‘And Lucy’s not as ambitious as you think. Actually, she’s quite shy. What are you doing for dinner?’ he asked when the lift started to move.
‘Letting you cook it for me. There’s steak and five different vegetables in the bag you’re holding.’
‘What sort of steak?’
‘Fillet.’
‘You have any decent wine?’
‘Of course. A pricey French red, or there’s an Aussie blend. You cook, you choose.’
‘Done,’ he said, and minutes later she was unlocking the apartment door, trying to remember if she’d left washing draped around the sitting room. She had, and she gathered it up while Grant unpacked the groceries.
‘What’s this? Multivitamins for women over forty… Feeling tired and run down …’ He read the label out loud, holding up the bottle of capsules with a questioning look.
Grace folded the last pair of knickers and stacked them with the others. ‘So,’ she said, ‘I’ve been feeling tired and run down and I’m over forty.’ Dismantling the clothes airer she stacked it alongside the washing machine, then closed the cupboard door.
‘I feel like I’ve never fully recovered from the second lot of jet lag.’
‘Now that you mention it—’
‘Mention what?’
He placed the bottle on the bench that separated the kitchenette from the sitting room. ‘You do look tired, and thinner. You didn’t need to lose any weight.’
Grace glanced down at herself. The skirt that used to gently hug her hips now hung from them. And these days she didn’t have to force a tissue into her bra if she didn’t have a pocket—there was plenty of room for one now. ‘I guess I haven’t been eating all that well, and you appreciate the hours we work.’
‘Maybe you need to see a doctor, have a check-up.’
Grace picked up the laundry basket of clothes, wondering if he was a mind-reader. ‘Maybe. I thought I’d give the multivits a try. Eat healthier, drink less. See how that goes.’
Grant didn’t look convinced. ‘Two weeks,’ he said, holding up two fingers. ‘If you don’t feel better and haven’t started to put weight back on in two weeks, you need to make a doctor’s appointment and have a check-up.’
He walked towards her, relieved her of the washing basket and, grasping her upper arms, spun her around and propelled her towards the bathroom.
‘What are you doing?’
‘We’re weighing you. You do have bathroom scales?’
‘Yes, they’re in the cupboard.’
He took them out, blew off the dust. Reluctantly, Grace stepped out of her shoes and onto the scales, squinting at the digital readout.
‘I’ve dropped almost three kilos. More than I thought.’
Grant took out his phone and made a note of her weight.
‘Two weeks and two kilos,’ he said as she stepped off.
‘What?’
‘You’ve got two weeks to put on two kilos or you’re off to the doctor. Now come and relax while I grill the steak. And take one of those vitamins with dinner. Did you get potatoes?’ he said, following her out of the bathroom. She nodded. ‘And you have butter, cream?’ Another nod. ‘Then I’ll mash them.’
Grace did as he told her because she didn’t have the energy to argue. She poured them each a glass of the Aussie blend, set the two-person dining table, and then watched, sipping her wine while he put the finishing touches to the simple meal.
‘Where’d you learn to cook?’
‘Self-taught. It was either that or starve. Patrice hated cooking, and there’s only so much takeaway and frozen dinners a man can tolerate. Then the kids came along and I practised on them.’
‘And I bet they were grateful.’
‘Not so as you’d notice,’ he muttered.
‘Well, I’m glad you taught yourself to cook,’ she said.
He looked up from the grill but didn’t return her smile. ‘Perhaps you could spread the word about what a catch I am. I know I’m starting to show signs of wear … Preloved? Isn’t that what they call second-hand goods these days?’
Grace bit back a glib response when she noticed the solemn look on his face. ‘You will find someone, Grant,’ she said, schooling her expression. She carried their wineglasses to the table.
‘I thought I had.’ He put the food down and topped up their glasses.
‘Lucy? She was too young for you, and why would you want to live here when you hate the place? And what about your kids? I can’t see her moving to Australia.’
‘I meant you,’ he said quietly.
Grace’s fork halted midway to her mouth. Grant laughed.
‘Your face,’ he said. ‘You should see your face.’
‘I thought we’d sorted all that, Grant. That we’d agreed that we’d been there, done that and it was friends from now on?’
He lifted his glass, clinked it against hers before taking a healthy swallow. ‘To friends,’ he said, his gaze not wavering from hers.
21
For the next fortnight Grant was the best friend Grace could have wished for. He cooked for her and made sure she didn’t stay late at the office every night. He picked her up and dropped her off from work and wherever else they went. And he listened patiently to her concerns about her mother.
‘I can see why you’d worry, but from the little I know of Sarah, she’s a very balanced and capable adult. Did you ever think that your not being around might not be a bad thing? She was pretty dependent on you, and now she has a chance to come and go and do as she pleases.’
They were sitting in a bistro, eating fish and chips three times as expensive and not half as nice as the ones from the local chippy.
Grace was picking at the food, moving it around the plate and hoping it looked like she was eating. By the expression on Grant’s face, she knew she hadn’t fooled him at all.
‘It’s complicated,’ she said, biting into a lukewarm chip. She just wasn’t hungry, and tonight Grant playing devil’s advocate was irritating her.
‘Life’s complicated,’ he said, and she dropped the fork onto the plate with a clatter.
‘Mum’s almost seventy, she’s had bowel cancer, and not long ago she lost her own mum. Tim said he’d look out for her, but he’s not, and I’m here. Aaron said—’
‘Aaron?’
‘You know, that mate of my brother’s,’ she said, appreciating the low lighting when warmth spread up her neck and to her face. Grant lifted an eyebrow.
‘Anyway, Aaron said he’d spotted Mum in Miners Ridge, and a couple of weeks ago my sister threatened to take out a restraining order on her if she didn’t stop stalking Liam and Amelia.’
‘Really?’
‘They’re her only grandchildren, Grant. She told me that all she did was wait at the school for them. All she wanted to do was say hello. Faith is being a bitch and won’t let her near them, so what’s she supposed to do? And Faith’s pregnant again and didn’t tell me.’ With a tired sigh Grace gave up all pretence of eating, pushing away her plate.
‘Bloody hell, your family sounds more dysfunctional than most.’
‘Gee, that’s helpful.’
Grant’s laugh was strained. ‘What can I say? Ask me to find the best places to invest your money and I will, and make you a lot of money. But family stuff? You of all people know I wasn’t the world’s best husband, or father, not by a long shot. But I can cook.’