When Grace Went Away Page 8

  When I’d finally accepted that I wouldn’t be going home to the farm all those years earlier, I’d moved in with Mum in Adelaide and found a part-time job as a receptionist at a medical practice. Grace was single. She didn’t need her mother living with her, moping about and cramping her style.

  Together, Mum and I had made ends meet. And it’d worked well for several years. It’d been like the time after Dad died and I’d moved home to help with the rent. Before I’d met Doug.

  When Mum had become more and more forgetful, the three of us had two choices: I could quit my job, apply for a carer’s allowance and stay home with her full-time, or we could put her into care. To me there wasn’t a choice. Of course I’d look after my mother. In the end fate intervened and there was no choice to be made because I was diagnosed with bowel cancer.

  Without a word of complaint, Grace had organised the sale of Mum’s retirement unit so she could live out her days in an aged-care facility with quality food and care. That had left me homeless again, and for the second time Grace had stepped in, using her savings to buy a small home unit for me to live in.

  I was now eligible for the aged pension myself and that gave me some independence, but I wouldn’t have received the extent of medical care I had, or lived in the comfort I did, if my eldest daughter hadn’t helped out. It made me feel both proud that she could and regretful that she’d needed to. All my children had paid, in one way or another, as a result of my decisions.

  Negotiating the aggressive peak-hour traffic that evening had me feeling nostalgic for public transport, when I could settle in with a book and ignore the jammed roads. But then the sky darkened and a shower of rain pelted the car as I turned into my street, and I was thankful I wasn’t trekking home from the bus stop.

  Later, unpacking my basket, I pulled out my phone, which had been on silent at the nursing home. There were two missed calls. My sister had rung, which was reassuring to see. But the screen registered a number I didn’t recognise. Expecting it to be the nursing home, heart in my throat, I called back.

  ‘Mum?’ a voice said.

  You can imagine my surprise and momentary speechlessness when Tim answered. The sound of that one word on his lips and all the day’s banked up tears came coursing down my cheeks.

  Because I didn’t answer immediately, because I couldn’t, he repeated, ‘Mum, is that you?’

  ‘Tim,’ I said, with soggy brightness, searching for a tissue. ‘How are you? Is everything all right? Have you changed your phone number?’

  It’d been months since I’d last spoken to my son. I rang, every fortnight, but he didn’t often pick up. I had no way of knowing if he listened to the messages I left.

  ‘I’m using a mate’s mobile. Grace phoned. She said Nanna was crook.’

  I squeezed my eyes shut. It hurt that it took his grandmother to be sick before he contacted me. Then he said, ‘Are you all right, Mum?’ and the hurt dissipated.

  ‘Yes, as good as can be expected, thanks. Unfortunately, I think this might be it for Nanna. The doctors say she probably has pneumonia. It started with a cold and gradually got worse.’

  Tim cleared his throat and I could imagine him a man now, but always a boy in my heart. From a toddler he’d had a soft spot for his Nanna.

  ‘Should I come and see her?’ he said, and irritation flashed through me. First my sister and now my son who couldn’t decide whether to visit their dying grandmother without being told they should.

  ‘That’s up to you, Tim,’ I said evenly. ‘She’s past knowing anyone. But if you want to say goodbye …’ I let the sentence hang.

  ‘Is Grace coming home?’

  His question startled me. I hadn’t considered it. ‘Not as far as I know,’ I said. ‘She’s only been gone a few weeks, and it’s not as if she’s on holiday, she’s working. And Nanna is ninety. Grace said goodbye to her before she left.’

  ‘I know she’s working over there,’ he said, snippy now. It’s how it went on the rare occasions we talked: me always worried about saying the wrong thing; Tim always impatient with me.

  I slowly counted to three, then asked the question I knew I shouldn’t.

  ‘Do you think you will get down to see Nanna?’ Holding my breath, getting my hopes up. I heard Tim sigh. The phone scrunched and crackled like he was changing ears.

  ‘We’re seeding,’ he said, and that’s all it took to dash my hopes.

  ‘I wouldn’t have thought there’d been enough rain.’

  ‘There hasn’t, but you know what life’s like around here. We’re pretty much dry seeding because it’s seeding time. I’m keeping my fingers crossed more rain will come and the seed will germinate, and we won’t have wasted our money.’

  It was my turn to sigh. I did know what life was like there. It’d been my life for the best part of thirty-five years. Almost half the time I’d lived so far. ‘I understand, Tim, but if you do get a chance to visit, there’s a bed here for you anytime.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he said, gruffly. ‘Let me know how Nanna gets on.’

  ‘Will you answer your phone?’ Damn. Another question I’d promised myself not to ask.

  ‘If I hear it or if it’s switched on. Leave a message. I generally get around to listening to them.’

  There was nothing in his voice suggestive of anything other than the facts. I took them at face value. ‘Okay, I’ll ring if there are any changes.’

  ‘I better go,’ he said. ‘Don’t want to tie up this phone for too long.’

  ‘I’ll let you go then. Bye, Tim,’ I said, awkward now because there was so much more that needed to be said. ‘I love you,’ I added, but he’d already disconnected. I wanted to hurl the phone across the room. Instead, I plugged in the charging cable and carefully put the phone down on the kitchen bench.

  I felt fragile enough to shatter.

  Hairline cracks were insidiously weakening the wall I’d built separating the emotions I wouldn’t let myself feel from the ones I did. If the wall gave way, all those carefully segregated feelings would collapse into one another.

  What a mess. Padded-cell territory for sure.

  Bracing my outstretched arms against the kitchen cupboards, I told myself I couldn’t fall apart now. Not now while my mother lay dying. But the relentless energy it took to keep my years of grief firmly in place was exhausting. Perhaps the cancer had been a warning that if I didn’t let go, if I didn’t resolve some of the anger, it would devour me from the inside out.

  Fingers crossed that the nursing home wouldn’t ring and ignoring my own doctor’s advice, I opened one of the bottles of red wine Grace had left and filled a glass, all the way to the brim. Food could come later.

  11

  Grace

  When her grandmother passed away and she needed to be back in Adelaide sooner rather than later, Grace had a meltdown and Grant did what he did best. He organised everything. He booked her return flight, found her a medium-sized suitcase, reminded her what she needed to pack and drove her to the airport. Sue, her exec assistant, cleared her appointments for the forthcoming week.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ Grant said. They were halfway to Heathrow, the traffic moving sluggishly.

  ‘What’s there to say? Mum said Nanna had a cold, and now she’s dead, and I wasn’t there.’

  ‘Your grandmother was ninety, for God’s sake. You said goodbye before you left, and surely you didn’t come away thinking something like this couldn’t happen. After all, she was in an old folk’s home with dementia.’

  Grace lifted her hands, and then dropped them back onto her lap. ‘I’m not worried about Nanna, I’m more concerned about Mum. She puts on a brave face, but …’ She shook her head slowly.

  ‘But what?’ Grant said, gaze flashing to Grace and then back to the traffic.

  ‘Family stuff. It’s kind of complicated.’

  ‘What family stuff isn’t complicated?’ he said bitterly.

  ‘Yeah,’ she agreed, and they lapsed into silence.

>   When she and Grant had been together, she’d only ever given him the sketchiest of details about her family. He knew her parents were separated, and she had a brother and sister living in her hometown. Her mother was the only family member he’d met during their year-long relationship.

  Grace freely admitted their liaison had been mostly about sex and having a good time. Involvement with family had never been offered or sought, on either side. Looking at Grant now, Grace wondered if she’d underestimated him—and the potential for a them.

  ‘What?’ he said, sensing her scrutiny.

  ‘I was thinking about us,’ she said. ‘Could we have lasted, if we’d put more effort into it?’

  Grant shifted in his seat. ‘Honestly? In hindsight, I don’t think so. The timing was all wrong. But now?’ He reached for her hand, gave it a quick squeeze before returning his hand to the wheel. ‘I’ve never stopped caring about you, Grace.’

  ‘So, what was it about the timing?’ she said, angling herself towards him, genuinely curious.

  The traffic slowed. He drummed his fingers on the leather steering wheel. She could almost see him rehearsing what he was going to say.

  ‘Things with Patrice and I had been rocky. I was asked to work in the Adelaide office. She refused to come with me. I went anyway, thinking a quasi-separation might be the catalyst we needed to help whatever was ailing our marriage. Absence making the heart grow fonder and all that crap.’ He laughed at the irony. ‘Then I met you. And we had this most amazing time together. But I had unfinished business in Sydney.’

  ‘So, technically speaking, when we were sleeping together, at it like rabbits if my memory serves me correctly, you hadn’t actually left your wife?’

  It was something Grace had wondered about at the time. She wasn’t proud to admit that she hadn’t pressed the issue because she hadn’t wanted to know for sure.

  He took a long breath. The traffic started to flow more freely.

  ‘No, technically speaking, I guess you could say that. Patrice and I hadn’t parted on good terms, but my slippers were still under the bed, so to speak.’

  He looked like he’d just sucked on a lemon.

  ‘Then asking if I’d move to Sydney was just—’ she threw her hands into the air, searching for words, ‘—all bullshit,’ she finished.

  ‘No,’ he said calmly, ‘I wanted you to come. After being with you for a year, I had every intention of leaving Patrice. But after I’d gone, you didn’t make any moves about coming.’

  ‘No,’ she said, emulating his calm. ‘I didn’t apply for a transfer right then and there because my mother had just been diagnosed with cancer, and we had to move Nanna into a nursing home. I sort of had my hands full.’

  ‘And so did I. With the kids. My son was caught shoplifting, and then my daughter thought she was pregnant. Patrice was beside herself, and I couldn’t afford to stay in a hotel waiting, in case you decided to come so that we could find a place together.’

  ‘So you moved back home.’

  ‘Yes, I moved back home where my responsibilities were. And that’s what I meant by the timing not being right.’

  Grant changed lanes to take the exit ramp off the motorway. Grace folded her arms and stared out the passenger window.

  ‘Why are you telling me all this now?’

  ‘You asked.’

  ‘So I did. My turn to be honest, Grant. When you moved back into the marital home so quickly after you left Adelaide, and me, I did wonder if you’d always intended to go back to your wife. Even though you hadn’t technically left her in the first place.’

  ‘Semantics, Grace. So, I went back. The twins needed stability.’

  Grace opened her mouth to ask if he’d slept in the spare room, but then she closed it because she really didn’t want to know. What surprised her was that she didn’t care much either way.

  ‘Now they’re both at uni, and seem to be knuckling down. Patrice got a job, and has since shacked up with a work colleague. Told me they are in love,’ he said, with a twist of his lips. ‘The house is under contract, and we’ve agreed to buy a unit for the kids to use.’

  ‘I see.’

  He glanced her way. ‘I’m a free man, Grace.’

  ‘So you are,’ she said, deadpan.

  Ten minutes later they were pulling into the short-term car park. Grace unclipped her seatbelt. She could see he was upset. Placing a hand on his forearm she said gently, ‘Grant, you’ve been wonderful, booking my flights, getting me here. I really do appreciate it, but I can’t make promises about anything right now.’ Her eyes blurred with tears. He reached for her.

  ‘I’ll be here when you get back,’ he said, hugging her tightly.

  It was late when she cleared Customs. When her mum had offered to pick her up, Grace had put her off, saying she’d take a cab.

  ‘It’ll be close to midnight, Mum,’ she’d argued. But now as she stood freezing by the taxi rank, Grace wished she’d taken her up on the offer.

  No business class this trip. Her bank balance couldn’t stand it. She was tired and wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a comfortable bed. Well, a bed anyway; the futon at her mother’s could hardly be described as comfortable.

  Nanna’s funeral was Wednesday, which allowed Grace a full day to recover.

  The next taxi was hers. When the Indian driver climbed out, for a nanosecond her world tilted and she wasn’t sure where she was. Then he hefted her luggage into the boot and they were on their way.

  The road glistened from a recent rain shower, its surface slick. Traffic was sparse. She paid the driver and he lifted her luggage onto the kerb. Like a beacon, her mother’s porch light beckoned.

  The front door opened just as Grace lifted her hand to ring the bell, and she was enveloped in her mother’s arms.

  ‘I’m so glad you came,’ her mother said, eyes wet with tears. ‘I would have understood if you hadn’t.’

  ‘I’m so sorry about Nanna.’ Grace hugged her mother, hanging on like she didn’t want to ever let go.

  An hour later, Grace was in bed, the lounge room dark and cosy, the only sound the murmur of the radio in her mother’s room.

  Grace fell asleep and dreamed that she was dragging a heavy suitcase down never-ending cobbled streets, knocking on doors, only to be told she didn’t live there. She woke an hour later, disorientated, dislocated, her cheeks damp.

  Predawn had lightened the sky before she dozed off into a fitful sleep.

  ‘I’m awake,’ Grace said, yawning, mindful her mother was tiptoeing around so as not to disturb her.

  ‘I’ll make you a cup of tea. How did you sleep?’

  Grace picked up her phone to check the time. Eight forty-five. She groaned.

  ‘I take it not very well.’

  ‘No, I had some unsettling dreams.’

  Grace could see from the lounge room into the kitchen. The electric kettle started to wheeze as it heated and Grace propped herself up, soothed by the familiar ritual of her mother making tea.

  ‘So tell me everything,’ Grace said when her mother handed her a steaming mug and perched beside her on the futon. Sarah was still in her dressing gown, well-worn ugg boots on her feet.

  ‘Where to start?’ she said.

  ‘Well, you said Nanna had a cold. That turned into a chest infection—’

  ‘And it ended up pneumonia. She just faded away, lost what little fight she had left in her.’

  ‘Is Aunty Kate here?’

  Her mother shook her head. ‘She flies in this afternoon. I told her you were coming so I wouldn’t have room for her, and that we’d pick her up and drop her wherever she decided to stay. Would you mind taking her to the funeral tomorrow?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘She’ll be in Adelaide two nights.’

  ‘That long,’ Grace said, and they both snickered.

  ‘Tim rang.’

  ‘No kidding. What did he want?’

  ‘He said you’d let him know Nanna was s
ick.’

  ‘I said she had a cold. He rang you. That’s great, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is. He wanted to get down to see Nanna, but they’re seeding … Too late now.’

  Grace reached for her hand. ‘Does he know she’s passed away?’

  ‘Yes, he knows.’

  ‘He’ll probably be at the funeral,’ Grace said, vowing to herself that she’d never let her brother live it down if he didn’t come. Bugger the seeding. Doug could cope one day without Tim.

  ‘I haven’t heard from Faith.’

  ‘Did you expect to?’

  ‘No, but I never give up hope.’

  ‘Maybe she’ll send flowers,’ Grace said, but they both knew the likelihood of that.

  They chattered on about Grace’s new life in London, and the arrangements for the funeral the following day. Grace finished her tea and snuggled down under the doona.

  ‘You stay in bed, see if you can sleep. I’d better shower and get dressed. There’re a few bits and pieces I need to do today in preparation for tomorrow. Okay if I use your car this morning?’

  ‘You don’t need to ask, Mum.’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ her mother answered, smiling, but it was the saddest smile ever. Grace pushed back the covers and hugged her mother.

  12

  That night, with the aid of a sleeping tablet, Grace slept for ten hours. She woke bleary eyed for the morning of the funeral. With only two hours until the service she dragged herself off the futon and into the shower. The tailored black pencil skirt and jacket she’d packed to wear were hanging from the corner of the linen press.

  ‘Do you want toast or cereal for breakfast?’ her mother called from the kitchen.

  ‘Just tea.’ Aunty Kate was expecting to be picked up from her motel in fifty minutes. ‘Why didn’t you wake me earlier?’

  ‘Your sleep was more important. Besides, the miserable old bat can afford to take a taxi.’

  Grace laughed. They’d picked up Grace’s only aunt from the airport the previous afternoon, and the woman had done nothing but complain the moment she closed the car door. Dinner together, at a five-star Italian restaurant Grace chose, had been painful, her aunt critical of everyone and everything.