‘Max Friedmann,’ says old Mrs Peddie, to no one in particular, ‘is a dragon’s tooth.’
The rest of the group assume that the old lady is wandering, but Grace is startled. The Greek legend is apt. For every dragon’s tooth that Jason planted, up sprang an army. Max’s death has brought forth an army of Friedmanns.
‘Where did you learn mythology?’ she asks old Mrs Peddie.
‘Don’t expect me to follow that modern nonsense!’ the old lady booms back. ‘I’ll stay put in my own home! They can carry me over the doorstep feet first in a coffin!’
This, fittingly, brings afternoon tea to a close.
‘Cynthia,’ says Grace, ‘why don’t you bring your mother-in-law round for a glass of sherry?’
9th September
Dear Grace,
We are having a lovely run of weather here in Christ-church, I hope it is the same with you and that my new camellia is making a good show. I thought when I put it in that you would enjoy it from across the park.
Well dear, I’ve been slow to write which is not like me, but I have had a difficult decision as you realise. Thank you for all your advice and for the messages from the bowls club.
I think in the end it is best if I settle here with my daughter. You won’t approve, I know, Grace. I’m not clever like you to marshal arguments and I will miss the house and garden, but it seems to be meant. The family here are very insistent. They suggest it is selfish to live in a large home designed for family use. I hadn’t thought of it like that really, perhaps they’re right. Well, they have built a dear little granny flat in the back yard. It would be ungrateful to turn it down, Grace. It’s too small and too close to the house to be let to a stranger.
Judith, my daughter, you’ve met her I think, the thin one, feels that Wellington is too far away if something goes wrong. She has a point. It was hard for the family last year, when I was so ill and they had to drop their jobs and run to my bedside. They’re so good to me, I feel I owe it to them to make things easy.
Well, Grace, I can hear you disagreeing but the die is cast. My son-in-law has put the house on the market, it has been empty too long, he says. A non-productive unit, he calls it.
I would be grateful if you could pop across to the house before the auction to check that all is clean and tidy. The real-estate people won’t notice little things. No doubt several of the neighbours, not to mention the bowls club, will want to pry and I wouldn’t like them saying I had let things go. Do write a good account of the auction itself if you can bear to go. We can only hope someone suitable buys it, I don’t like to think about it, Grace, someone else making changes.
Never fear, I’ll come up from time to time. I know you will make me welcome and we can have a good laugh again over a sherry. Sherry is not the same without you, Grace, I have to admit!
Affectionately,
Mildred
Monday, 12th September
Dear Mildred,
What a difficult time you are having! My heart goes out to you. It’s true, Mildred, that my head is full of reasons why you shouldn’t make this move. But it is also clear to me that you have made your decision, and cannot bear to go though any more arguments. I will miss you more than I can say, but there it is.
You are right about the auction: everyone is planning to go! Les and Jack have their own views about the reserve price, and even old Mrs Peddie will be there. She thinks a picnic on your lawn would be a nice idea, though I don’t know what the auctioneer will say to that! Yes of course I’ll be there and will sound out the new owners as suitable parents for Cio-Cio. Just don’t ask me to take her in. I would do many things for you, Mildred, as you know, but not that. She has developed a deep dislike of me, I can tell, though I feed her absolutely according to your instructions.
I hope you are keeping in contact with Adam Friedmann. You are right about the stick of limp celery — a good description! But he is kind, don’t you think? And very lonely. I’m trying to persuade him to come to Wellington for his niece’s stage debut. Have a word with him. He would appreciate a friendly approach. You’re so good at bringing people out, Mildred. I wish I had learnt more from you.
Well, I’ll write after the auction; you shall have all the spicy details. Do you remember when we went to the auction of Marge’s house and the man insisted you had made a bid! Take heart, my dear. Life will soon settle down again.
With love,
Grace
14th September
Dear Sheila and Martin,
Forgive this letter. I have respected your wishes for some time but fear that Sally has still not written to you. Please understand that I do not condone her behaviour and hope she soon becomes more communicative. Young people these days, I am afraid, tend to take family obligations lightly.
Sally seems well, now, and settled into flatting. Her three flatmates are normal students and care for each other, which is comforting. Sally visits me from time to time and seems reasonably healthy, though I am sure she pays little attention to a balanced diet.
I am fully aware that you do not approve of theatre. Your religious beliefs must, of course, be respected. But I wonder if you would consider coming to Wellington to see Sally perform her monologue? In a sense this is not so much theatre as a series of discourses on subjects related to this country’s social history. One could see it as an interesting educational exercise. Several other students will present monologues on different topics. Sally’s will, I expect, be excellent; she shows great talent.
I know Sally would value your presence. You are welcome to stay overnight at my home if this makes the trip easier.
Yours faithfully,
Grace Brockie
18th September
Dear Grace,
Thank you for your efforts. I could perhaps have stretched a point but Martin feels we should not go against Church teaching. No doubt he is right. I have written to Sally wishing her all the best.
Yours faithfully,
Sheila
P.S. Are Sally’s flatmates all girls, do you know?
22nd September
Dear Martin,
Forgive me if I speak bluntly. Please reconsider your attitude to Sally’s performance.
First, the Drama School is a registered tertiary institution, not a theatre. The performance will take place at the school. Surely your church encourages and supports educational effort?
Second, your daughter, Martin, needs your approval. She may not show it outwardly but there is no doubt she misses you both. If I can see her vulnerability, surely you, who have brought her up, can recognise it too. You loved Max, I know, Martin, and were good to him. Sally has a good dose of Max’s spirit in her. Can you not enjoy her differences, even if you do not approve of her lifestyle?
You will, I realise, consider this letter impertinent. Sally is your daughter, not mine. Well then, you may blame Max for my openness. Your father taught me habits I do not wish to lose. It is difficult for me to expose my feeling for Sally, for fear of your scorn or pity. I do so for Sally’s sake.
Sally is stubborn like you, but you are the older and wiser. You can afford to bend. Please do so.
Yours faithfully,
Grace Brockie
Sunday 25th September
Dear Mildred,
Well, what a surprise! You must be feeling very put out. Les said the reserve was too high, but Jack insists the price was right and that it is simply not the time to sell.
In the end I was not able to attend the auction, but Cynthia came round straight after with the news. She said your drawing room was quite full. Mostly the neighbourhood, of course, and the bowls club. She said it was really strange with all your things still there. Like a party. Cynthia expected you to come out from the kitchen with a plate of sausage rolls any minute.
Well, there were three people she didn’t know, though Les recognised one of them and reckoned he would be just a spectator too. Evidently the auctioneer gave a spiel about the history of the place, ho
w you and Perce had built it when there were only farms here, and how well you had maintained the old-style charm. You would have been proud, Cynthia said. Old Mrs Peddie chipped in with extra historical details; the auctioneer would be no match for her, I imagine!
Les Comfrey, trust him, couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and gave a knowledgeable little lecture about your fireplace and its unique design, and how his brother had built it. Well, that set one of the strangers off. She contradicted the auctioneer about the house being unchanged. She had visited often when she was a child and distinctly remembered a stained glass window to the right of the fireplace. Cynthia finally made the connection — one of Ethel Eglinton’s daughters, who’s come back to live in Pembroke Road. You’ll remember her of course, Mildred. Well, there was quite a reunion, I gather, with the auctioneer pushed right into the background.
Finally he started off the bidding and there was a deathly silence. He dropped the price, down and down till everyone was embarrassed. Cynthia says they were all looking at the one stranger left, but he never said a word! Les insists he was a real-estate stooge, there to push the price up. He could well be right for once. Then in the middle of all this silence, old Mrs Peddie turned and rammed her stick into the wall. ‘Dry rot!’ she cried, ‘Look at that! Dry rot!’ as if she’d encountered the plague. The woman doesn’t know her own strength, Mildred. Cynthia says not to worry, she’ll see the hole is mended. Les, of course, the expert, darted forward and diagnosed dry rot indeed. Mrs Peddie can be most surprising. Les says not to worry, it’s only a patch and his son will see to it for you.
Well, my dear, it turns out there were no buyers there at all. Perhaps it would be better to wait? Though your family will advise you, I’m sure.
I am a little worried about Cio-Cio. Cynthia has been putting out food, but she hasn’t been seen for some days. She is a strong-willed cat; l suppose she will return in her own good time.
Sally Friedmann, Max’s granddaughter, called today to see how I am getting on. You would love her; so much energy and fun. Would you believe she is doing a small performance at the Drama School based on my Springbok Tour arrest. Your rescue will get a mention too. I wish you could come and see it. On second thoughts we might start arguing the issue all over again! Is Adam planning to come? Sally’s parents don’t believe in theatre. How can people call all this dourness Christianity? I have been quite sharp with them. I’m not at all sure I’ll be able to be there myself, now, and Sally desperately needs approval. Persuade Adam if you can. His niece is very talented.
You are right, your camellia is a picture; I am enjoying it.
With love,
Grace
27th September
Dear Grace,
Oh dear, you poor soul, lying there on my path with no one to help! Adam has just told me the news, he had it from Sally. Grace, you will play the stoic. Surely you could have told me. Now I want all the details, you know how I like a good hospital story. But a break! That is nasty at our age, Grace, you need proper care or you will never hear the last of it.
Adam says Cio-Cio tripped you up, she will get a good talking to. I expect she has disappeared from shame, the bad girl.
Well Grace, this has tipped the balance. Judith can say what she likes but I’m needed in Wellington. Clearly this is not a good time to sell. I have suggested Judith puts Simon in my granny flat and charges him rent. That way they won’t miss out. If a son stays at home he should contribute I say, though whether Simon who is six foot four and his enormous dog will fit in my wee rooms is questionable!
Well that is for them to sort out. I am coming up straight away, and will be over with some of my pea and ham soup before you know it. Let’s hope the gardener has left some parsley in the garden.
I don’t believe for one minute that there is dry rot in my living room. Please tell Les to wait till I come. I never heard such nonsense. Perce insisted on heart rimu. In any case I have my own builder as Les very well knows. I did laugh over the auction though. And cry, to tell the truth. The thought of all my friends there in my house. I tell you what. We will have a party when I return and you are up and about. And this time I will appear from the kitchen with sausage rolls.
Of course I remember Ethel, who wouldn’t. Fancy that obnoxious daughter of hers standing still long enough to notice my stained glass window. She is quite right though — it let in water and Perce had it removed before I could get a word in. The child must be 65 now if she’s a day. I must look her up, no doubt she has mellowed.
Well Grace, my dear, you were right all along, I belong in my own home. It is like a weight lifting, it should not need a friend with a broken leg to make me see sense.
Adam says he’s coming up for Sally’s performance. You had better book me a seat too, though I’m surprised you are prepared to let the whole world know you have a criminal record. Adam says he will arrange a wheelchair and get you there by hook or by crook. He seems very fond of you in his own serious way. I hope you are not getting carried away again, Grace!
Well, I must fly. There’s packing to be done!
Say what you like, I believe that cunning Cio-Cio has planned the whole thing!
Affectionately,
Mildred
Theatre Party
‘Oh dear, what a fuss,’ says Grace, but her eyes are alight with excitement. Each arm round the neck of a burly drama student, enthroned like a queen on their laced hands, she is carried in style up the steep stairs to the Drama School. Her plastered leg, jutting forward, nudges Mildred.
‘Now now, you boys,’ says Mildred, pausing to puff, ‘we’re not all in our twenties remember.’
Indeed we are not, thinks Grace, looking at the procession ahead. A last-minute hitch — the loss of the key to the service lift — had threatened, briefly, to derail the theatre party. There was a nasty moment when her friends, grouped on the pavement around the wheelchair, Les and Cynthia propping up old Mrs Peddie, suggested the evening might have to be aborted.
‘Oh no!’ cried Grace, dismayed that all her planning could be so easily thwarted.
‘Wait here,’ said Adam, and bounded up the stairs.
‘Show-off,’ said Les, shifting uncomfortably under Mrs Peddie’s weight.
But then a bunch of cheerful students came to the rescue.
‘No probs, ladies. They teach us to do lifts, and carry dead weights. It’ll be a doddle for us.’
Though the two bringing Mrs Peddie up are making heavy weather of it, Grace notices.
‘Whoops!’ cries the old lady. ‘Steady as she goes, lads. Make way in front!’ Her enjoyment of the whole process does not help. Grace holds her breath as the trio threatens to topple. Cynthia steadies from below, Les shouts instructions and the procession moves upwards again.
Their arrival into the theatre causes quite a stir.
‘Block booking of eight,’ says Grace with pride. ‘We’ve come to see Sally Friedmann.’
‘Hey, Sally’s told us all about you,’ says the bright-eyed lass issuing tickets. ‘You’re Grace, aren’t you? The protester? Hey guys!’ she calls to her friends, ‘here’s Grace! Here’s the famous block booking! Get Sally!’ The group is surrounded by welcoming students. A second wheelchair is found for Mrs Peddie, plastic cups of wine are offered, everyone wants to talk to Sally’s supporters. As the noise level rises, several elderly hands hover around ears; hearing aids are being adjusted.
‘Cheers!’ Mildred, magnificent in green silk, touches her plastic cup to Grace’s. ‘Do you think I’ve overdressed, perhaps?’ she adds, looking round at the startling collection of op-shop finery adorning the younger audience members.
Grace smooths her best blue wool over the plaster. ‘You look wonderful, Mildred. This is an occasion, after all’
‘It is,’ says Mildred. ‘I’m home again.’
Earlier in the day, the friends have shared the expense of a house visit by Dawn, the hairdresser. Up to date now on the neighbourhood gossip, and immaculately coiffured,
they are ready to enjoy whatever this evening may bring.
Old Mrs Peddie is surrounded by respectful students. The old lady’s hands are dancing. A snatch of song floats over.
Grace frowns. ‘I do hope Cynthia can control her mother. She was in music hall evidently.’
‘What hasn’t that woman been in, Grace.’
‘Well, we don’t want her upstaging events. This is Sally’s evening.’
Sally, alight with tension, runs out from behind black curtains and hugs Grace. She notices Adam and her jaw drops. He pats her shoulder awkwardly.
‘Uncle Adam! Did you come up specially?’
Before Adam can answer, Sally’s attention is riveted elsewhere. Grace turns to look. There in the doorway, looking hesitant and awkward, are Martin and Sheila. The plain formality of their dress, Sheila’s kerchief, stand out. They are from another planet. The noise, the coloured lights, the great cavernous barn of a theatre, seem to have stunned them. Grace, who is as surprised as Sally at their appearance, fears they are about to turn tail.
‘Greet them, Sally,’ she whispers. ‘Quick. This is hard for them.’
Sally goes forward as if treading on glass. Sheila gives her daughter a quick little hug. Martin shakes her hand. There is a pause. Grace wills movement. Through the crowd she watches as Sally guides her parents to the desk. There is some discussion. Perhaps they didn’t book, thinks Grace. Perhaps they don’t know anything about booking. This may be Sheila’s first experience of a theatre. She marvels again at Sally’s strength in overcoming such a background. And what is it, in this religion, she wonders, that can have turned Max’s son away from the world of performance and invention?
In Touch With Grace Page 13