When Grace Went Away Page 16

  When my mobile phone did finally ring, I dived for it, answering without checking the screen because I just knew it’d be Grace. When it wasn’t, I couldn’t keep the surprise out of my voice.

  ‘Happy birthday, Mum,’ Tim greeted me.

  ‘You remembered!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Hard to forget … Dad still circles all our birthdays on the calendar.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said. It was one of Doug’s annual rituals. At the end of the year he’d transcribe all the significant dates from the finished calendar to the new one. I wondered what he thought these days when he circled 7 August and wrote Sarah’s birthday. And why he still did it.

  ‘I know I have no excuses for not remembering other years. I’ve just been slack.’

  ‘Never mind. At my age it’s just another day.’

  ‘But it’s still your birthday. You always made our birthdays special,’ he said, and I could feel myself choking up. All day the tears had been there, at the ready.

  Following in Mum’s footsteps, I had always made a thing of the kids’ birthdays. They’d been allowed to choose their favourite meal, and after tea they didn’t have to help with the dishes, or do their chores for the day.

  Grace’s favourite had been roast beef with all the trimmings. Tim had always chosen chicken schnitzel and chips, with ice-cream sundaes for dessert. Faith loved lasagne with garlic bread. Luke chose pizza.

  When they were teenagers, they’d been allowed to invite two or three of their friends. Grace went to boarding school and she’d missed out on this. I’d always felt sorry about that.

  ‘What have you been up to?’ he said, pulling me back from my memories.

  ‘Oh, sanding down a couple of kitchen chairs I picked up at that second-hand place in town. They were five dollars each. The table was ten dollars. I’m pleased with the way they’re coming up.’

  ‘I’m driving into town in a while and I’ll drop in, if you’re going to be home,’ he said.

  I almost laughed. Where else would I be? ‘I’ll be here,’ I said.

  Earlier I’d thought about taking myself out for lunch but lunchtime had passed, and I’d considered coffee and cake for afternoon tea … But that time of the day had passed as well.

  The weather was morose and my mood matched it so I’d stayed put and felt sorry for myself. Now it was almost time for a glass of wine and nibbles.

  ‘I’ll see you in an hour or so,’ he said, and was gone.

  Since Faith’s visit ten days previously, I hadn’t seen her at all. Tim had stopped by briefly a couple of times, and I’d spied Liam and Amelia dawdling past one afternoon, obviously curious. They’d loitered by the gateway, engaged in an animated discussion with lots of pointing in the direction of my front door.

  Watching them through the front window, out of sight, I’d sensed that Amelia had wanted to come and knock on the door but Liam was reluctant. Tempted though I’d been, I didn’t go out and greet them. That’d put too much pressure on them. In the end Amelia had apparently conceded to Liam’s seniority and they’d kept walking.

  It had hurt to watch them wander off without saying hello, but I’d have alienated Faith even further if I’d approached them. I’d come this far, and the next move needed to be Faith’s.

  I had an hour until Tim arrived. The sullen afternoon had transitioned into a cold and miserable dusk. When it was dry, the cold felt harsher. After his phone call I’d whipped around and tidied up, showering and washing my hair before dressing with more care than I’d taken for days. I didn’t want Tim to think I’d been moping on my birthday, or on any other day for that matter.

  A sweep of headlights was followed by the crunch of footsteps on gravel and I was opening the door just as Tim lifted his hand to knock. In his other hand was a bottle of wine, and balanced in the crook of his arm was a colourful bunch of flowers with a starkwhite envelope peeping through the greenery.

  ‘Oh!’ I said, standing back to let him through.

  ‘Not from me,’ he said, passing me the bouquet. ‘They were on the doorstep.’

  ‘Oh,’ I repeated, now perplexed rather than delighted. ‘I was out the back earlier, working on the chairs. I’m sure I didn’t hear anyone.’

  With the cellophane wrap rustling, I carried the flowers through to the kitchen, contemplating what to put them in. Vases hadn’t been on my list of things to bring to Miners Ridge.

  Laying the bunch on the sink I fumbled for the card. Turning it over several times I noted there was nothing written on the envelope. With my thumb I peeled open the flap and took out the florist’s card.

  Tim put the wine on the table, watching me from the kitchen doorway as I scanned the message.

  Happy birthday, Mum, and I’ll be thinking of you on your special day. I love you and hope everything’s working out the way you want it to. I’m sorry I’m not there to give you a huge hug. Lots of love, Grace xxx

  After I’d read it a second time I passed it to Tim. He skimmed through it.

  ‘She must know you’re here. I didn’t tell her,’ he said. ‘I’m pretty sure Faith wouldn’t have told her and you asked Aaron not to.’ He handed back the card. ‘Why didn’t you want her to know?’

  ‘I’ve relied heavily on Grace these last few years. I needed to do this on my own.’

  He regarded me for several silent seconds and then said, ‘Okay, I kind of get that. When did you talk to her last?’

  I lifted my shoulders, the corners of my mouth turning down. ‘We talk every few days. She’s had glandular fever, poor thing, although she’s much better now.’

  The flowers were beautiful, and there were daffodils, one of my favourites. Who else but my eldest daughter would remember how much I loved daffodils?

  But to send them here? Had I given myself away when we’d talked? I’d been purposefully vague about how I’d been filling in my time, but she knew me so well.

  ‘She can come across as bossy,’ I said softly. ‘But it’s usually because she’s worked out what a person needs to do before they’ve worked it out for themselves.’

  ‘Whatever,’ he said and disappeared from the doorway. As I rummaged through the cupboard for something to put the flowers in, I could hear him pacing around the few rooms.

  ‘This place is coming together nicely,’ he called.

  The house had begun to feel more like home. The paint fumes were fading, coming to be replaced by more pleasant and familiar smells. I’d purchased an armchair, a sofa and a large coffee table, all advertised on the community noticeboard.

  Nothing matched, but I didn’t care. There were floral cafe curtains hanging at the kitchen window and scatter cushions on the sofa. Aaron had loaned me a television. I hadn’t been game to shift Grace’s monstrosity from the unit.

  ‘Yes, it is,’ I said, carrying the flowers out to the sitting room. ‘I picked up some curtains for out here. They need altering, but they’ll spruce the place up a bit more.’

  Carefully, I placed the flowers in the middle of the coffee table. A plastic Tupperware jug was all I could find to put them in and they were a trifle top-heavy.

  ‘Thanks for the wine,’ I said, primping the flower arrangement. ‘Did you want a glass?’

  ‘No, I brought it for you.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘You know there are a heap of vases and stuff at the farm,’ Tim said. ‘I could bring in a few things if you wanted.’

  I looked up from what I was doing. I knew exactly what I’d left at the farm all those years ago.

  On each of her earlier trips to the farm, Grace had smuggled out a few things: my sewing machine, the dinner set Mum had given me and Doug as a wedding present, a crocheted tablecloth handed down from my grandmother. Had Doug noticed the items go missing?

  Many a night when sleep had eluded me, in my mind I’d catalogued my abandoned possessions. Several of the vases and some of the glassware had been Mum’s and it pained me to think what would eventually happen to them. An op shop somewhere, I’d alw
ays imagined.

  ‘You think your dad wouldn’t mind?’

  ‘I won’t tell him if you won’t. It’s your stuff, and I don’t think he’s ever missed the things Grace took. We tend not to do flowers,’ he said, one side of his mouth lifting tentatively.

  With a jolt I realised it’d been a long time since I’d heard my son make a joke. ‘Okay. I’m game if you are. There’s a tall, frosted glass vase,’ I said, indicating an approximate height with my hands. ‘With flowers etched on the front. It was Nanna’s. I’d love to have it back. From memory it was on the bottom shelf of the linen press in the hall.’

  ‘Still is,’ he said, and our gazes locked. It hit me anew just how much I’d lost when I’d left, and I didn’t mean the material possessions; they were the very least of my losses.

  Tim went out of focus when tears blurred my vision. Grief squeezed at my heart. I think I moaned out loud because Tim opened his arms and I stumbled into them, and into a hug that up until now I’d only ever dreamed about.

  We stood that way for a long time, and I realised Tim was weeping too. I couldn’t tell you who cried the most. I made the most noise.

  We grieved together for some of the same things, and some not. It was the best birthday gift he could have ever given me.

  25

  Tim and I ended up sharing the bottle of red wine, and opening another. He decided he would stay the night, bringing a swag in off the back of the ute. I cleared a space in the spare room for him to roll it out. Getting a spare bed jumped to the top of my priority list.

  I’d added extra toppings to a frozen pizza and heated it for dinner. When we’d eaten that and finished most of the wine, I dozed in the armchair to the drone and flicker of sports on the television. Tim roused me around eleven and told me to go to bed.

  ‘I’ll be up early and I’ll let myself out in the morning,’ he said. ‘Don’t bother to get out of bed.’ I didn’t argue.

  We hugged and the ease of it sent warmth to places the alcohol hadn’t.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘It’s good to have you back here, Mum. Dad—’ he started, and then closed his eyes and moved his head slowly from side to side.

  ‘It’s okay,’ I said.

  He opened his eyes and gazed down at me. ‘It’s not okay, Mum. It’s never been okay. You probably think I took Dad’s side—’ He held up his hand when I opened my mouth to protest. ‘Let me finish, please. I tried not to take sides. But you had Grace, Faith had Ben, and Dad needed someone, even though he’d never admit it.’

  ‘I didn’t think he’d let me just walk away after thirty-five years of marriage … Four children … It felt as if I meant nothing to him except someone to keep house for him. You were there on and off, Tim, helping out on the farm after Luke died. Your dad shut us all out. It became intolerable for me. Something had to give.’

  Wide awake again, I perched on the arm of the couch. ‘I know I’m not perfect and the more I think about it, if I had my time over there are things I’d do differently, but he abandoned us. Me, you, Faith and Grace.’ My voice rose with emotion that I didn’t attempt to control. ‘He couldn’t have been more absent if he’d moved to South America.’

  Tim muted the television and stood in front of it, listening to me, hands in the pockets of his jeans.

  ‘I wrote to him daily for two whole months,’ I continued. ‘I bared my soul. He returned every letter unopened. I rang but he didn’t answer the telephone. I tried Faith but she wouldn’t talk to me. Mum tried. Grace tried. Faith screened her calls until Ben rang me and asked me not to try to contact her. Doug just didn’t answer. Eventually I called the police and asked them to do weekly welfare checks on Doug. They did until you moved back to the farm.

  ‘I am so sorry, Tim, I never meant for you to give up your career, your life, and move back to the farm. But even before I left I could see it was getting that Doug couldn’t manage on his own. I’d suggested he take on a farmhand. In fact, Jerry Bretag said he’d share his farmhand with us. Doug wouldn’t discuss it with me, or with anyone.’

  Uncomfortable where I was perched, I slid onto the couch again. Tim sat down in the armchair. ‘I guess he did eventually take on a farmhand: me. And I do not want to do it anymore. I’ll be thirty-six next birthday and life is passing me by. I want my travel experiences to include more than a ten-day trip to Bali when I was twenty-one.

  ‘I’m beginning to hate that effing farm. And he’s never stopped treating me like the hired help, minus the wage. I pick up work at the local garage, just to have few bucks in my pocket.’ He closed his eyes and rested his head back. ‘But how can I leave? The place’ll fall down around him before he lets go.’

  Tim’s words had a similar effect on me as rubbing salt into a wound. I pushed my fist against my lips to stop myself from whimpering aloud.

  ‘Mum, don’t ever think I blame you,’ he said, opening his eyes as if sensing my distress and looking directly at me. ‘I truly believe the situation wouldn’t be much different now, even if you had stayed. After that month I spent working with Dad not long after Luke died, deep down I knew that eventually I’d have to quit my job up north and help him full-time. Then you left, and I suppose that and being retrenched from my job sped up the inevitable.’

  ‘I’m sorry about that, Tim.’

  He shifted in the chair, and his despondency was like a physical presence in the room.

  ‘I’m sorry too, Mum, about a shitload of things. I’m sorry I didn’t realise how difficult it was for you, and I’m sorry I’ve been such a useless son.’ He swallowed and looked down. ‘I gather Grace has helped you out financially over the years. She alluded to that before she went overseas but made it clear that if I had any questions I needed to ask you. I’m asking.’

  I lifted my hands, let them drop heavily onto my thighs. Where to start?

  ‘Before I answer that, Tim, I want you to know that none of it was your fault, or your responsibility. You had a partner, you were living together, you had your own life and commitments. Grace was in a position to help me and she has been very generous financially, and in so many other ways.

  ‘When I couldn’t ignore any longer that your dad had cut me loose, I was homeless and virtually penniless. He blocked access to the farm bank accounts within days of me leaving. I had no other income. Until I found a job and moved in with Mum, Grace supported me.

  ‘Without your sister’s help I don’t know what I would have done. My pride wouldn’t let me beg Doug for anything. Mum survived on her pension. Then when we moved her into care and sold her unit to cover the nursing-home bond, I found myself homeless again and Grace invested in the unit where I live now.’

  I decided against telling him that when Mum had died I’d put aside my share of what was left of the nursing home bond. A chunk of that money would eventually go to Grace, towards repaying her. It didn’t come close to what she’d outlaid. We’d agreed we’d sort everything out when she came home next.

  For now those funds were in a term deposit. Honestly, I was happy for Tim to know all this but I suspected he’d tell Faith and my feelings there were still unsettled.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ he said. ‘I had no idea that Dad didn’t give you a cent. He’s never shared any of the business side of the farm with me, not that I’ve ever wanted to know. Although a pay cheque every now and then would be appreciated.’

  I yawned, scrubbed my hands over my face, and then yawned again, making my eyes water. ‘The savings I had when we got married, and every dollar I earned working between having you kids—what didn’t go to feeding and clothing us—went into the black hole that is that precious farm.’ Standing up, I stretched. ‘I think I’d better have a big drink of water, clean my teeth and go to bed,’ I said. ‘I’m glad we’ve had a chance to talk, Tim. It was long overdue.’

  ‘Yeah, it’s been good but we’ve probably only just scratched the surface. Do you think Faith’ll ever come around? Get past her grievances?’

 
My tired and alcohol-fuzzed brain took a second to process the question. ‘I don’t know,’ I said slowly, because I didn’t know. Honestly, my second daughter had always been a bit of an enigma to me. ‘I’ve learned that Faith’s list of grievances is long, and at the top is my not being there for Amelia’s birth.’

  ‘Mum, none of us were there for Amelia’s birth! I was away working and Dad didn’t budge from the farm. Grace came up the following weekend. Nothing’s ever been said about Dad’s absence, and he was the closest.’

  ‘I’m her mother.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I was there at Liam’s birth.’

  ‘There you go, one out of two ain’t bad.’

  I laughed because that’s what he wanted me to do. His face brightened.

  ‘Don’t forget, Mum, Faith always took Dad’s side in any argument, right back to when she was a kid.’

  ‘Never mind,’ I said, but to a degree he was right.

  ‘I don’t remember much about Grandma Fairley because I was only four or five when she died. But I remember Dad saying a few times over the years that personality-wise Faith takes after her.’

  ‘God help us all,’ I said, and it was Tim’s turn to laugh. It eased some of the tension.

  Joylene Fairley hadn’t been a touchy-feely kind of a grandmother, or mother-in-law, but in her own way she had loved her grandchildren. All except Grace, that is, keeping her at arm’s-length because she’d been born less than nine months after Doug and I were married. She’d always doubted that Doug was Grace’s father, which was total poppycock and Doug knew it.

  ‘Tim, Faith’s an adult and she’ll make up her own mind, like she always has in the past. All I ask is that she lets me spend time with Liam and Amelia. I want to get to know my grandchildren before it’s too late.’