“It all sounds great. What else have you got planned?”
“We’ll go out for day trips and I thought when we’re working, you could either hang out here or take yourself off into the city. When’s Adam coming? Do you know yet?”
“Yea – in about three weeks. He’s coming on his own for five days. Is that okay with you?”
“Fine. I can’t wait to see him. I was working it out the other day, the last time I saw him, he was four!”
“I’m so excited to see him. Actually, Jane, I must just text him and Holly and tell them I’ve arrived safely. I did promise …”
“Yea, fine, you do that and I’ll get a bit of lunch ready.”
I go into my bedroom to find my phone and turning it on, I find that I have two new messages. One from Ben and one from David.
Ben: I hope by the time you get this you’re at your sisters and have recovered from the journey. Daisy leaves for Manchester soon – dreading it. Just got a huge new job, so busy. Seems odd here without you. Love Ben xx
I feel a longing for Ben when I read his words … I can’t believe I’ve got someone who cares for me, like he seems to.
I’m so intrigued about why David has texted me that I don’t reply immediately to Ben. I open David’s:
I thought I ought to let you know that Suzie is expecting our child – Holly and Adam don’t know yet and I wanted you to know first. She’s due in October and we’re very happy, as you can imagine. I hope your trip to Australia gives you all you hoped. David.
My heart lurches. I read it several times, not quite believing it. Does he really think that I can ‘imagine’ their happiness? Has he forgotten how we so wanted a third child and I was told I couldn’t have any more? Is he just cruel or thoughtless; so wound up with his own present happiness that he’s forgotten the past completely?
*
Do you remember, David, the day I went for some tests, to see why we weren’t having any luck conceiving, after Adam? You were with me and were waiting outside when I came out of the consultation room. You stood up – you knew, instinctively, that it wasn’t good news, and you wrapped me in your arms.
You took me home, telling me how much you loved me and assuring me that our life was complete and that we were fine how we were. I cried myself to sleep that night.
Maybe we weren’t at all fine, David?
*
I sit on the bed, my legs feeling weak and trembly.
I press ‘reply’ to David and write: Nice of you to let me know. No, I can’t imagine how happy you are. Thanks for ruining my first day in Australia. Anna
I press ‘send’ before I can change my mind. How dare he assume that his news is going to be welcome. Does he not realise that it’s so hurtful? My heart is thumping in my chest and I go hot all over.
Should I have sent such a bitter text?
Still, it’s too late now. I can’t un-send it. If it was a letter, I perhaps would have torn it up and re-written it.
I write a quick text to Ben; I try to reassure him that Daisy going, isn’t going to change anything, but in my heart, I know it is. I tell him I miss him too, which is true and then quickly text Holly:
I’m here! Journey was SO long, but I got here in the end. Their house is A-maz-ing! Will take some pictures this afternoon and send them later. Love you, Mum xx
I write something similar to Adam and then hear Jane call me.
“Is everything okay?” she says, as I enter the kitchen. “You look as white as a sheet.” Even after all these years, my sister can read me like a book.
“Well …”
“What’s happened? Is it Holly?”
“No, no, it’s not Holly. It’s …”
“What, Anna?”
“David … there was a message from him … kindly informing that Suzie’s up the duff …”
“Oh my God … he’s too old to be a father again … what’s he playing at?”
“I know … he seems to think that I can imagine their happiness … for God’s sake.” I slump down on a chair and Jane comes and stands behind me, putting her arms around me.
“He really has turned into a bit of a bastard, Anna. I thought I liked him …”
“He’s changed … this Suzie woman has addled his brain. He’s forgotten how badly I wanted a third child … sorry, Jane. I know how awful it must be for you, me whingeing on about not having a third when …”
“Don’t worry … I’ve got over that now … I’ve learned to live with it and accept it. You have to – don’t you? But it’s a good thing he’s thousands of miles away. If he was here, I’d want to sock him.”
I stand up and go and look at the view again. The sun, sea and beach lift my spirits and I say, “Come on, let’s forget him and his stupid mid-life crisis and go out into the fresh air.”
“More like old-life crisis,” Jane giggles. “Yes, let’s eat and go. Life’s too short to worry about men …”
I wonder if there’s more to Marcus’ stress than she’s letting on. I resolve to find out and say, “Yes, let’s go out for a girly walk and talk.”
And that’s exactly what we do.
*
We walk down onto the sand, taking off our thongs at the bottom of the steps. I’ve got my phone in my pocket and I take pictures of the beach – it’s so stunning, I can’t believe it. I’ll email them later to Holly, but I’m not sure she’ll see how truly beautiful it is.
I run to the sea’s edge and feel the temperature of the water, my feet tingling in the cool, salty water. It’s considerably warmer than the Atlantic in Cornwall and I vow to go in properly, tomorrow. We walk the half hour or so along to Brighton, seeing the jetty in the distance the whole way. For a while, we don’t appear to be getting any nearer it, but gradually it looms larger on the horizon. After the long journey, the feel of the sand beneath my toes, the wind in my hair and the sun of my face, is magical. To hell with David and Suzie Barton and their future sprog, I say to myself. Let them go procreate and live happily ever after!
I tell Jane about Ben; I show her the same picture I showed Holly on my mobile phone, and as I tell her about him, I wish he was here to walk with, along the sand. He’d love it and I’d love him to be here. A man walks past with a dog on a lead and for a brief moment, I remember Gaz. He’d love this too.
I wait for Jane to tell me Ben’s too young for me, but she doesn’t. All she says is, “You look very happy together,” and I’m grateful to her.
We meander along the jetty, to the end. The black metal structure, jutting out into the ocean, standing majestic, surrounded by aquamarine water, is a world away from the piers of England, whipped by grey waves. The colour of the sky is piercing, jaw-dropping, mind-blowing blue and it invades my senses with its power, vibrating my mind, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me out of my previous sadness.
I feel young and new, happy and excited to be here, in this land of colour. The wind carries the smell of the sea on its gusts, my eyes are assaulted by the vastness of the horizon and my legs stretch and enjoy the breezy walk back along the length of the jetty. I stop and watch someone fishing and remember the fear of sharks, lurking in the deep. But I don’t care, right now – life is different and I enjoy the novelty, the newness, the feeling of being somewhere I’ve never even dreamt of before.
We walk up to the row of shops and cafés and find a seat in the sun. As I look around at the people sitting near us or walking slowly past, I’m envious of Jane’s life. This is like living in Bath with its café culture, but with the sea at the bottom of the road, glistening and inviting, and a large city a short train ride away. The waitress brings us our delicious coffees and I sit, soaking up the sun, turning to it, like a flower, opening its petals as it feels its warmth.
I’ve missed having Jane to confide in; we talk for a long time about David, the children and Ben. It’s almost as if I’m talking about someone else; my English life is drifting away from me. She listens, nodding her head and smiling.
There’s a small hesitation – she looks away and I wonder if she doesn’t want to talk. “We need a second cup – hold on, I’ll just go in and order them,” and she disappears inside.
After a few minutes, she comes out and says, “They’ll be out in a second. So … me and Marcus. What do you want to know?”
“So … well, all I meant was … is everything okay with you two? I might be being too sensitive but …”
“No, you’re not. How does he seem to you?” The waitress deposits the second cups of coffee and takes away our used cups. We wait till she’s gone and then I continue.
“Well … you’ve mentioned that he’s stressed and he … does come over as being … a bit uptight.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” Jane says. I detect a sheen of tears in her eyes and reach across and touch her hand. “He’s pretty difficult to live with …”
“He’s obviously been on his best behaviour for me,” I say, “but he has put on quite a lot of weight and that can’t be good for his blood pressure.”
“I’m always trying to get him to lose weight … and to drink less.” She wipes her eyes and looks away again.
“Is drinking … a problem?”
“You could say that.”
“Is he violent …”
“No …no … nothing like that … it’s just … it’s just that he drinks every night and often during the day too. He was very restrained when you were there last night, but normally it would have been at least two bottles of wine. He then falls asleep – or should I say, passes out, most evenings … I’m so worried about him.”
“Has he got financial worries or … I know you said he had a huge project at work?”
“I don’t know anymore whether it’s the work that’s making him stressed or the wine making things worse … it’s a vicious circle. We’re okay financially, but over the years, he’s come to hate his work and all the pressure it brings. I think he’s basically very unhappy and he drinks to … forget. But of course, it doesn’t help; it never does.”
“Have you tried talking to him?”
“Yes, all the time, but he shuts me out. He refuses to go to the doctor, as most men do.”
“How long has it been like this?”
“I suppose it’s been building up for years …”
“Why have you never said anything to me?”
“I didn’t want to burden you and it’s difficult at a distance. It feels really disloyal, somehow, too. I shouldn’t be slagging off my husband. I love him, I really do. I want to help him.”
“Look, you’re not slagging him off, you’re just telling me about your life. It can’t be easy for you and you need to share it with someone or you’ll go insane. Have you talked to anyone else about it?”
“No … all our friends know he drinks, but they have no idea how bad it’s got.”
I smile across at her and say, “Well, I’m here now. You must talk to me whenever you want. I could try and talk …”
“No,” she says. “That wouldn’t be a good idea. He’d hate that.”
“Okay … I won’t say a thing. You and I will talk together and see if we can come up with some sort of plan. I don’t know what, at the moment, but …”
“It’s good just talking to you. I feel like a weight’s been lifted, somehow.” She runs her hand through her hair. “Life’s complicated, isn’t it?”
“It is. Who would have thought when we were children, that our lives would bring us here? I was always so envious of you, leaving. I thought you were leading this perfect life in paradise. My life seemed so dull in comparison. Yours was all creative and fun – I felt you’d ‘escaped’ from the mundane.”
We both drink our coffee and are silent for a few seconds.
Jane says, “Wherever you are in the world, whether it’s by the ocean or in a Regency city or in a country village, your demons are with you, aren’t they? I was so sure I’d have children – I was envious of you – I longed for your life, being mother to two beautiful children. But it wasn’t meant to be for me. Maybe if we’d had children, Marcus wouldn’t be in the state he is now … maybe he’d be happy?”
“You can’t think like that … you have to deal with the situation you have now and don’t dwell on what might have been. I’m sure Marcus loves you very much and has just lost his way.”
She stares into the distance and a look of sadness falls onto her face. After a while, she says, “Yea, you’re right. That’s a good phrase for him … he’s lost his way.”
My heart goes out to her. I’ve been so wound up in my own problems that I didn’t even consider what her life’s really like. It’s so easy to be fooled by a lovely house, an amazing view … but we all have our problems, don’t we?
“We’re a right pair, aren’t we?” I laugh. “What would Mum say about our situations, do you think?”
“God knows. That generation would just ‘put up and shut up’ I suppose.”
“I think Mum would be very supportive to you, if she was alive,” I say. “She’d probably give Marcus a right good talking to!”
“Heaven forbid. I wonder what she’d think of David’s escapades?”
“She’d be horrified. She worshipped the ground he walked on. He could do no wrong.”
“Come on, let’s pay and walk back. Do you fancy an enormous gelato, while we’re walking?” says Jane. “We don’t need to worry about our weight, do we?”
“Speak for yourself! But today, I don’t care … I’m on holiday. When have you ever known me turn down an ice cream?”
We buy two huge cones with the most delicious flavours, piled high, and walk back along the beach.
My first day in Adelaide has been wonderful.
I feel I’ve found my sister again; we’ve confided in each other and just being together, has helped us both.
Chapter Twenty-Two
My first week passes in a flash. Jane has an office in the house, where she works every day. She too has a lot of work on at the moment and even though it’s tempting to take time out while I’m here, she’s very conscientious and refuses to slip out of her routine of working nine till one, and two to five. Unlike Marcus and me, she loves her job, so it’s not a problem. She’s so good at it too – she shows me the book she’s working on at the moment and I’m amazed at her artwork and interpretation of the story.
So, I leave her to her endeavours and do my own thing. I walk on the beach, one day, down to Glenelg and back; another day, I catch a train into the City and explore. Another day, I go to the local sports centre and plough up and down the olympic size pool, which I love, as it’s outside, and I can get some exercise and enjoy the sun, at the same time. Everyone here looks tanned and fit, unlike at the pool back home. No one hangs around chatting and getting in each other’s way. It’s as if everyone is on a mission to be more macho, more tanned … more Aussie, than the next person.
Another day, I swim in the ocean, telling myself the sharks won’t surely come into the shallows? I spot the helicopter shark patrol, which both worries me and comforts me, but I carry on regardless. If a shark eats me … well … I hope he chokes on my old skin.
I find I’m quite happy on my own, exploring the area. The day I go into the City, I positively enjoy finding my way around, using maps and apps on my phone. I go down to the river, I admire the wonderful buildings with their ornate balconies and relax in a park. I love its compact layout and relaxed, laid-back approach to city life.
I try to help Jane, by cooking supper on a few nights; I borrow their car and go to buy ingredients from the local supermarket. I’ve always loved exploring other country’s food shops and I wander up and down the aisles admiring the choice. I thought we had a good selection of yoghurt back home. Here, you need to make some serious decisions.
I discover that liquor, as Aussies call booze,
isn’t sold in supermarkets, but in ‘bottle shops’ so I go two shops down the road. I don’t really know what to do about wine – I buy some, not knowing if Jane will curse me or not, but it feels wrong not to. I try to choose local wine from the Adelaide Hills’ vineyards, which Jane says we’ll visit later. The guy serving offers me some ‘clean skins’ – bottles with no labels – and says what a good buy they are. I succumb and buy two.
I watch Marcus like a hawk, now that I know the truth. He tries to be friendly, but I can see he’s distant and dismissive with Jane. He reaches for a glass, almost the moment he comes in from work and keeps it permanently topped up, during the evening. He does indeed fall asleep in front of the TV and I notice Jane leaves him snoring and slumped in a chair, most nights. I worry what to do, but think there’s little I can do. It’s got to be him who sees the light in the end.
The following weekend, they are both the perfect hosts and take me on a road trip with one night in a B and B. We go down the Fleurieu Peninsular, visiting places with exotic Aboriginal names. We drive onto the beach at Aldinga, even though we’re not in a four by four and then we drive all the way down to Cape Jervis, where the ferry goes to Kangaroo island. The weather becomes positively English down there and we end up eating fish and chips in the steamed up car, as the rain pours down outside.
We drive along the coast to Victor Harbour and gaze down at Horseshoe Bay; we go to Port Elliot and finally Goolwa, the mouth of the mighty Murray. We walk to the barrage and see pelicans, black swans and even seals, basking quietly in the sun. The light down there is stunning and I take some great photos on my new camera. A bird with an amazing warbling sound, which Jane tells me is a Murray magpie, sits and poses for me. He lets me go right up to him as he sits on a wooden post and stays long enough for me to practise taking close-ups.
I love our native bird population and their familiar songs, but the thing that’s struck me here very forcefully has been the beauty and difference of Australian birds. Virtually none of them are familiar to me – except the sparrow. I hear a constant cacophony of calls that I don’t recognise and when I look up, I see flashes of bright colours - the iridescent pink of the galah, the bright green of the lorikeet and the red and blue of the rosella. I’m driving Jane mad by constantly pointing and asking for their names. To me, they are the defining thing that makes me realise I’m somewhere far away from the land of robins and blackbirds. Their voices and their colours dazzle me.
Love Is a State of Mind: Nobody's Life is Perfect Page 19