When Grace Went Away Read online

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Where my family’s concerned …’ She lifted her shoulders, and dropped them on a slow exhale. ‘And in answer to your earlier question, yes, I will miss them. Will I be glad to be thousands of kilometres away from them for a while? Except for Mum, yes to that as well.’

  ‘Tricky things, families,’ Aaron said, rubbing the back of his neck.

  ‘Mine sure is, and if you want the honest truth, I don’t have to travel thousands of kilometres to miss how the family used to be before Luke died. How the family is now? Like Tim said, there’s not much to miss.’ She rolled her lips together to stop herself spewing out more of the stuff that kept her awake some nights.

  ‘Believe it or not, I do understand what you mean, Grace,’ he said quietly. ‘Tim doesn’t ever say much, and that in itself speaks volumes. And I knew Luke.’

  ‘Luke always looked for the best in people. We were all much nicer, and kinder, to each other when he was around.

  ‘Anyhow,’ she said with forced brightness, ‘you’d better go back in before he drowns in his beer. And thanks, you really are a good listener, Aaron.’

  Impulsively, she reached up to kiss him on the cheek. And interestingly, as she would reflect later, he turned at that precise moment so that instead of a peck on the cheek, their lips met.

  It was brief, but he definitely participated in the kiss. They drew back, and Aaron’s blue gaze locked on hers. Something fluttered in Grace’s belly. She gave her head a tiny shake, blinking rapidly. Didn’t the man have a wife and a family that went with the kids’ toys in his backyard? She heard him suck in a breath.

  ‘I can give him a ride home, save you driving back in,’ he said.

  ‘Thanks, but you’re not the Fairley siblings’ designated driver. Don’t you have someone to go home to?’

  ‘No, I don’t have anyone waiting for me at home, and I know I’m not your designated driver, but I’m offering.’

  She regarded him for several seconds. ‘Not at all, or just not tonight?’

  He knew what she was asking and his gaze softened. ‘Not at all, not counting the cat, and he comes and goes as he pleases.’

  ‘All right, thanks for the offer. Today has already gone on for way too long and another trip into town—’

  ‘I won’t let him get too drunk. He’s his own worst enemy, is our Tim.’

  And for the second time that afternoon they said goodbye. But Aaron had barely gone two steps when he swung around. Grace hadn’t moved.

  ‘Maybe I should take your mobile number, you know, just in case—’

  ‘Okay. Pass me your phone,’ Grace said. He unlocked it and handed it over. She quickly tapped in her details and handed the phone back.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, and with a slow wink he was on his way again.

  Grace touched her fingertips to her lips, and then climbed into her SUV and drove home to the farm, all the while wondering about the kids’ toys in his backyard.

  6

  When Grace called out to say she was home, there was no response. She poked her head into the sitting room to discover her father stretched out in his recliner chair, fast asleep.

  The television was on, the volume up loud. Finding the remote, she dialled down the sound, amazed he’d dozed off in that racket.

  Unguarded in sleep, she took the opportunity to study him. Doug was wearing odd socks, with a huge hole in the heel of one of them. The cuffs of his faded flannelette shirt were frayed, the knees of his work trousers threadbare.

  There was no denying he’d once been a handsome man. But his seventieth birthday had come and gone and in the two years since, he’d aged markedly. More wrinkles and sunspots, even less hair.

  Within weeks of Luke’s death, her father’s thick, wavy hair had thinned and turned grey. Any joy and satisfaction he’d got out of life, however, had leached out of him faster than his hair colour.

  That time, eleven years ago now, was indelibly etched into Grace’s memory. She remembered her parents, rigid with grief, standing at Luke’s graveside, side-by-side but somehow apart. And she remembered her father coolly rebuffing any offered comfort.

  When the first clod of dirt had crumbled onto the coffin, standing on the other side of her mother, Grace had reached for her hand. She’d flinched when her mother had gripped her fingers tightly. With hindsight, Grace wondered if her mother had suspected then that she would not only grieve the loss of her youngest son but the loss of her husband also.

  Once the initial shock had worn off, Doug had filled the vast farmhouse with anger. At first his outrage had been overt, everyone a target. Over time, he’d turned the rage inward, becoming sullen and remote. Her mother recounted that once he’d gone nine days without saying a single word to her.

  In the months following Luke’s death, Doug wouldn’t allow anyone but Grace and her two siblings near the property. Truth be told if it hadn’t been for their mother’s insistence, Grace knew her father would have preferred that she kept away as well.

  Without Luke’s help on the farm, Doug tolerated Tim being around, who never once was acknowledged for having taken leave from his job to help out in the immediate weeks after Luke’s death.

  Faith had always had a closer relationship with their father.

  Then Tim went back to work and could only help out on his days off, and for three long years their mother endured Doug’s selfish and unforgivable behaviour. When her support and encouragement didn’t get through to him, Sarah went to incredible lengths to help him. But his farmer friends couldn’t get through to him either, the hospital social worker was given short shrift, and the local Anglican minister didn’t even make it up the drive.

  The time came when her mother could no longer bear her father’s intransigent silence, and with her own mental health suffering, she’d left.

  Not long after that, Tim was retrenched and his girlfriend dumped him. With nowhere else to go he moved home to work full-time alongside his father.

  Luke’s death and its aftermath had scarred them all. Grace stared at her father, a jumble of emotions knotting her up inside. She knew their mother’s and Tim’s scars went deep. Doug refused to talk about any of it.

  As if sensing her scrutiny, Doug opened his eyes.

  ‘Sarah?’ he said, voice thick with sleep.

  Grace waited a beat and then said, ‘No, Dad, it’s Grace.’

  Awkwardly, he pushed himself up with his elbows, and Grace was shocked by how much like an old man he seemed.

  There were spots of colour high on his cheeks, and Grace realised he was embarrassed by his mistake. He reached for the lever on the side of the chair, and with a crunch the footrest dropped away.

  ‘You look a lot like your mother,’ he said. ‘She was an attractive woman.’

  ‘She still is an attractive woman, Dad. Inside and out.’ Grace felt the peppery sting of tears. ‘Do you want something to eat?’ she said, shifting her attention to the mundane.

  ‘Where’s Tim?’ He groped around on the chair for the remote control. Grace picked it up from the coffee table and handed it to him. He flicked over to the news.

  ‘He wasn’t ready to come home. Aaron said he’d give him a lift. Now, food?’

  ‘I’m not that hungry, not after the roast lunch. And dessert.’

  ‘There’s plenty of eggs. What if I poach you a couple? Make some toast?’

  ‘All right.’

  ‘Do you want it in here? On your lap?’ She’d spied the stable table on its side between his chair and the bookcase.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, nodding.

  Eggs for him and a toasted cheese sandwich for herself. When she took his meal in he said, ‘Aren’t you going to eat in here with me?’

  She hadn’t planned to. She’d planned on setting herself up at the kitchen table with the sandwich, a pot of tea and the Sunday Mail. But there was something in his voice that she’d never heard before, so she returned to the kitchen and carried her meal through into the sitting room. />
  When the news and weather finished, he flicked off the television and Grace eyed him warily.

  ‘I thought we could talk,’ he said, and Grace nearly choked on her cheese sandwich.

  ‘Talk? You know, I can’t remember the last time we had an actual conversation.’

  He topped up his tea from the pot she’d brought in. ‘Humour an old man,’ he said.

  She carefully put down her plate. ‘What, are you sick, coming down with dementia or something?’

  He laughed, a dry, rusty sound, like his vocal cords were out of practice. ‘You make it sound like a cold, or the flu. And no, I’m not sick, or coming down with dementia.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, pulling herself forward to perch on the edge of the sofa. ‘What do you want to talk about?’

  ‘Tell me what you’ve been up to for the last—’ he said, flapping is hands about.

  ‘Eleven years … And here was me, planning on an early night.’

  ‘No need to be flippant, Grace. I know I haven’t been very present, not for a long time. You have no idea how much I regret current circumstances, and my part in them.’

  Whoa, she thought. Current circumstances. That was one way of putting it. Grace smoothed her palms along her thighs. Was he expecting her to jump up and hug him, tell him all was forgiven? Not going to happen.

  Pushing herself to her feet she paced around the room, and then turned to face him. ‘You know I work for an international bank?’

  ‘I do know that.’

  ‘They’ve transferred me to the London office. I fly out at the end of the month.’

  The colour drained from his face. ‘London. In two weeks, you say? For how long?’

  ‘A year, to start with.’

  ‘But—’ He coughed, cleared his throat and went on. ‘But what about your mother?’

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘What does she think about you going?’

  ‘She’s thrilled for me. The adventure of a lifetime, were her exact words.’

  ‘That sounds like Sarah. But she’s been sick.’

  ‘Who knows that better than me, Dad?’

  ‘Who’ll look out for her if you’re not there?’

  Grace didn’t know whether to be glad that he cared, or sad because until now he’d never shown any sign of caring.

  ‘Mum and I have it covered,’ she said, tamping down her emotions. Her mother’s post-chemo check-ups had been clear, no signs of the cancer returning. ‘When I get settled she’ll come for an extended holiday.’

  ‘Nice to have the money to go flitting off abroad,’ he said, his expression souring.

  ‘Just as well I do have money because you didn’t do anything to provide for her after everything she did for you, for us, and for this effing farm.’

  He opened his mouth to protest but Grace didn’t give him a chance. ‘Who do you think paid all her medical bills so she could go private and have the best care?’

  And who bought a place for her to live and helps with her living expenses so she doesn’t have to struggle to survive?

  ‘Believe me, if Mum had ever given me the slightest indication that she didn’t want me to go, I wouldn’t be standing here telling you I was going,’ Grace said, and then silently chastised herself for defending her actions to her father. ‘And there’s no reason why Tim and Faith can’t visit her from time to time.’

  ‘No,’ he said slowly. ‘There is no reason why they can’t. And you probably don’t believe me, but I’ve never stopped them having contact with their mother.’

  ‘It’s not up to you. They’re both adults. We all have choices. I don’t ask for Mum’s permission to come here.’

  ‘Don’t forget, she left them as well as me,’ he said, a pugnacious curl to his lip.

  ‘No, be fair, Dad, you drove her away. You were so not there for her that she had no choice but to go, for her own mental health. She had no intention—’ Grace stopped dead, literally biting her tongue.

  ‘No intention of what?’ He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

  Grace shook her head slowly from side to side. ‘No, Dad, I’m sorry—it’s not my story to tell. If you ever speak to Mum again, maybe you can ask her yourself.’

  Looking old and tired, Doug eased back into the chair, the crusty old leather creaking. ‘So where does that leave us?’

  Grace returned to her perch on the edge of the sofa. ‘I don’t know … I suppose you could say that at least we’ve given the elephant a turn about the room.’

  Doug’s lips tipped up at the corners. ‘A good way of putting it, but then you’ve always been the clever one.’

  ‘Only in some things, Dad.’

  She’d never been clever enough to work out how to mend her broken family. Grace rubbed at her arms. The nights were closing in, getting colder as winter approached. She stood up, thinking to go and turn on her electric blanket. Her father’s next words stopped her in her tracks.

  ‘You’re going to be a long way away, Grace, and I don’t want us to have parted on bad terms.’

  She looked at him. ‘Fair enough. And I’ve always kept in touch, haven’t I? But I’m sorry, I can’t forgive and forget, just like that. I can’t pretend that the eleven years of you not being present didn’t happen, or ignore the damage that’s done to our family. We all lost Luke that day, not just you.’

  7

  Sarah

  Grace returned from the farm in a stinking mood. I don’t know what happened up there, and it didn’t matter how much or how subtly I pried, she didn’t say anything until the evening before her departure.

  It had been a hectic time for her. She was tired and said she had a sore throat and achy muscles. I’d dosed her up with tissue salts and vitamin C, and I’d helped as much as I could. Most things only she could do, but I’d done her washing and ironing and made sure she ate at least one balanced meal a day.

  The futon in my poky little sitting room wasn’t a very comfortable bed for Grace to sleep on, particularly given the state of her health, but I soaked up every moment she was there, banking memories for when she wouldn’t be.

  We were sitting at the kitchen table drinking Lady Grey tea on that last evening when she broke her silence.

  ‘When I was at the farm Tim came with me to visit Luke’s grave. We took flowers. He said he regularly goes there, and sometimes there are fresh flowers in a jar. I took photos. I’ll email them to you. I’m sorry for not sending them already. I even managed a selfie with both of us in it.’

  ‘Thanks, sweetie,’ I said. Tim hated having his photo taken. Always had. How lovely it would be to have a photo of them both at their brother’s grave. I wondered if Faith ever visited. ‘I’m so glad you went together.’ Grace reached across the table for my hand.

  ‘We could have driven up, Mum. Easily doable in a day.’

  Grace had taken me to visit my son’s grave the year after I left. It was more for her than for me. I could never explain it well, but Luke was in my heart, always a part of me, and I didn’t need to visit a cold piece of granite to be near him. I probably wouldn’t look at the photos of the grave, except the one with Tim.

  Squeezing her hand I said, ‘I know you would have.’

  ‘And the other thing I wanted to tell you was that Dad was kind of weird this time.’

  ‘How so?’ I could feel my heart pick up its pace as I waited for her to answer.

  ‘He wanted to talk.’

  My eyes widened. ‘What about?’

  ‘What I’d been doing, that sort of thing. He caught me quite off guard. I’ve replayed our conversation over and over, and I think he was looking for forgiveness. But Mum, I couldn’t forgive him. And I said some things that weren’t very kind.’

  I had a sense of how she must have felt, because her telling me about it had caught me completely off guard.

  ‘And when I gave Amelia and Liam your parcels, Faith was basically a bitch, and Dad stood up for me, and you.’

  ‘Oh.’ Now I could h
ear my pulse banging away in my ears.

  Needing time to process all this news, I went to the sink and refilled the kettle. I’d pondered many times how I’d feel if Doug ever made an attempt at a reconciliation, of any kind—if that was what this was. If so, the only thing I felt now was empty.

  ‘Mum, are you okay?’ Grace came up beside me and looped her arm around my shoulders, gently easing me into a tight hug. I closed my eyes, let my senses swim in the familiar scent that was my daughter, relishing the feel of her arms around me; their strength, their surety. I would miss my girl.

  ‘I didn’t know if I should tell you,’ she whispered, her lips moving against my hair.

  ‘I’m glad you did. I knew you had something on your mind when you came home.’

  She drew back so we could look at each other. ‘I thought perhaps he was sick and that’s what motivated his desire to talk. But he said not. And it wasn’t as if he knew I was going away, because I hadn’t told him yet. Tim knew but swore he hadn’t said anything.’

  Grace leaned against the sink, folding her arms while I fiddled with the teapot.

  ‘There’s something else,’ she said. My hands stilled. ‘When I got home from the pub on Sunday evening, he was asleep in his chair. He woke up and when he saw me he thought I was you. He said, “Sarah?”’

  My heart lurched, and then bumped erratically. I coughed, easing the thickness in my throat. Grace was shaking her head slowly from side to side, her expression perplexed.

  ‘Usually when I visit he barely acknowledges me. Although, my bed’s always made up with fresh sheets, not a speck of dust to be seen, and it’s unlikely that Tim does it. And I don’t see Dad paying someone to do it.’

  So many thoughts clamoured for space in my head, and all I could think was that Grace was leaving in the morning. Less than ten hours was all I had left with her. It was hard enough dealing with that. And while I was glad she’d told me all this, somehow I wished she hadn’t shared it just as she was leaving me.

  What did it all mean?

  I must have made a sound, articulating my anguish, because her head lifted sharply. ‘Mum?’