When Grace Went Away

by Meredith Appleyard

  Doug arrived with flowers and an assortment of Haigh’s chocolates. Mum was smitten. It was the chocolates. The flowers made her sneeze.

  A year later, when we married and I moved to the farm I was pregnant. Only just, and I didn’t know it. Walking down the aisle in a gorgeous, frothy white creation, I remember feeling like I wanted to throw up. Nerves—or so I’d thought. It wasn’t until after the honeymoon, a long weekend on Kangaroo Island, when the nausea hadn’t subsided that I considered I might be pregnant.

  Doug was twenty-nine when we married, four years older than I was. His dad had died when Doug was in his late teens and he’d inherited the farm, making him the fourth generation to farm that land. I’d always felt losing our fathers when we were young had formed a bond between us, though Doug didn’t ever say how he felt.

  Doug’s mother, Joylene, was the most joyless person I’d ever met. From day one she treated me like a blow-in from the city, and not good enough for her Doug. She wasn’t fooled when baby Grace ‘came early’, weighing in at just over eight pounds. Joylene’s lips had thinned and she’d given me one of her glares, astringent enough to strip paint.

  Our tenuous relationship became even more strained when I overheard her asking Doug if he was sure Grace was his. ‘Of course she is,’ he’d snapped back, yet hadn’t added a word in my defence.

  And then Joylene had accused me of getting pregnant to trap him into marriage.

  Grace was eleven, Faith seven, Tim four, and Luke still a baby when Joylene suffered a stroke while she was hanging out the washing. Her neighbour had found her. I remembered being light-headed with relief not to have been on duty at the hospital when the ambulance brought her in.

  She lingered for several days but didn’t regain consciousness. As the only child, Doug took her death hard—but stoically and silently. Her passing brought memories of my own father’s death back into sharp focus, but busy with four children, the farm and casual work at the hospital I hadn’t had time for reflection.

  Through the sitting room window a sliver of sunshine warmed the side of my face. It was my favourite place to sit. Sparrows flitted and chattered between the pot plants and hanging baskets on the tiny patio. Sitting there, rewinding memories, I felt like an old woman.

  The doctors and the oncology nurses said I’d feel tired for a long time, and they’d been right. But it was many months since the last chemo treatment and as my hair grew back, a fine fuzz at first then gradually getting stronger and longer, my energy had begun to return and now the days held greater promise.

  Over the months of treatment and recovery, I’d had more than enough time to think about my life. To revisit the mistakes I’d made, the decisions, the fractured relationships left in the wake of those decisions. And to accept that the loss of dreams had left weeping wounds on my soul.

  Saturday morning was cool and sunny. With relative ease I walked the kilometre round trip to the shops to buy a Weekend Australian. It was the only newspaper I indulged, and represented my fight against making the transition to reading the news online.

  Grace phoned me from the farm when I was halfway through a pot of tea and had barely finished thumbing through the inserts. I’d wondered how she was faring. She’d decided to stay a week this time; a weekend visit being her usual style and the limit of her sanity threshold.

  After the requisite to-and-fro about how we were, she told me she’d met a woman called Carol Claremont, and did I know her.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ I hadn’t thought of her in a long time. ‘Carol had two girls. One of them was around Luke’s age. There was a husband or a partner once upon a time, but I don’t remember him.’

  ‘She asked after you. Were you friends?’

  ‘Vaguely, I suppose, like mothers of kids around the same age are.’

  ‘Someone said her youngest daughter, Louise, was a friend of Luke’s.’

  Squeezing my eyes shut and pressing a fist hard against my stomach I remembered Luke introducing me to a pretty girl at his twenty-first. There’d been so many young people and we’d been flat out making sure there was enough food to soak up the alcohol. I regret to say I couldn’t remember the girl’s name.

  ‘Mum? Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes, I’m still here,’ I said, louder than I meant to.

  ‘Do you think she was his girlfriend?’

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t ever say he had a girlfriend.’

  What did it matter now? My son was dead and I had no idea what had become of Carol’s youngest.

  ‘I ran into Carol at the hotel. She seems nice. Friendly.’

  ‘And how are my two favourite grandchildren?’

  ‘Amelia and Liam are your only grandchildren Mum, and will most likely be your only grandchildren, unless Tim gets his act together.’

  ‘How are they?’

  ‘Okay, I think. I saw them briefly on Thursday afternoon when they came home from school, before Faith spirited Amelia off to piano lessons and Liam to footy practice. They acted like they hardly knew me, because they don’t.’ I didn’t miss Grace’s sharp intake of breath. ‘I’m not sure how I feel about that. Maybe when they’ve grown up, curiosity will get the better of them and they’ll visit their aunt in London.’

  There’d always been a distance between Grace and her siblings, something to do with her going to boarding school when she was twelve. It had been a bone of contention between them and as adults Tim and Faith had always found ways to niggle Grace about it.

  The reason Grace went to boarding school was because Mum gave me the money. After Dad died, Mum sold the family home and bought a strata title unit. The balance came to me for my children’s education. My intention had been to send all the children away to school for a few years each, not only the firstborn.

  Then Faith’s turn came, and we were in the middle of a drought. Doug wouldn’t even talk about spending money on boarding schools, even though we’d put the money aside and I’d gone back to permanent work at the local hospital.

  Circumstances hadn’t improved any when Tim came of age, and Luke had only been interested in following in his father’s footsteps on the farm.

  In the end, that blasted farm sucked up every dollar, and then some, and Grace was the only child who ever went away for her education.

  ‘Will you be seeing Amelia and Liam again? Did you give them the parcels I sent?’ I’d bundled up books for them both, not knowing whether they’d ever read them.

  Unlike Grace, I felt very strongly about my non-relationship with my grandchildren. Like rust, it ate away at me. If I dwelled on it, the unfairness of it, I’d want to scream and punch something.

  ‘Faith’s bringing the kids out to the farm tomorrow for Sunday lunch. Ben comes home on Wednesday, and I’ve been invited to have dinner with them then. I’ll give the kids your parcels tomorrow. And I promise I’ll take photos.’

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ I said, and then relented and asked, ‘How are the men?’

  Grace would never volunteer the information, especially when it came to her father. Was that to spare my feelings? Perhaps, but I needed to know and she knew I’d ask, eventually.

  Tim was my son. And Doug? He was still my husband although I hadn’t seen or spoken to him in eight years.

  ‘The men? Happy enough to have a live-in cook and housekeeper for a week. I don’t think they’d care who it was. And I’m not griping, Mum, not much anyway. I knew it’d be like this before I came. It always is. But I wanted to tell them in person that I was going away.’

  ‘Are they well?’

  ‘They appear to be. Dad looks older, greyer, grumpier, bitching about the bad season they had with the crops, and that they’ve had to get rid of sheep, and when will it rain again. His hair’s thinner. The chip on Tim’s shoulder has doubled in size … What can I say?’

  I let the conversation drift to other things, and thought how much Doug would hate losing his hair. And he hadn’t always been grumpy. Had he? My heart ached for my one
surviving son, and my youngest daughter.

  When I’d walked away, sides had been clearly taken, and they were not mine. As much as I hated to admit it, Faith withholding her children from me—even Tim’s growing bitterness—could only be interpreted as a sort of punishment. It was my punishment for leaving.

  Missing out on my only grandchildren was the hardest. Faith and Tim were adults, able to make choices. The children had no such capacity, and by the time they were old enough to make those choices, it would be too late.

  Grace’s tone lifted, becoming animated when we moved on to her forthcoming move, and what was left to do with the townhouse. Furniture and belongings had been sold or put in storage, the windows cleaned and the carpets shampooed. The couple who’d leased it would move in before she left for London. Her bed and refrigerator had been sold, and after the buyer collected them she’d come and sleep on the futon at my place, and would do so until she flew to the other side of the world.

  I’d drive my daughter to the airport. Her car was to be at my disposal for as long as I wanted or needed it. Her huge flat screen television already took up too much space in the tiny sitting room. But that was okay, I’d decided.

  We made our goodbyes.

  ‘If you run into Carol Claremont again, please pass on my regards,’ I said.

  ‘Will do. I’ll see you Thursday,’ Grace said. ‘I’ll have reached saturation point by then. And I need to be at work on Friday. There’s still a lot of handing over to do.’

  After we disconnected I dropped the phone into my lap. Grace kept me in touch with my previous life, the one where I’d been a farmer’s wife and a mother; where I’d been a part of a community.

  Though I’d never asked because I didn’t want to know the answer, I’d wondered if she would have continued her visits to Miners Ridge and the farm if not for me.

  Now she was going away and without her intermittent visits, the gossamer thread that kept me connected to the farm and the family would thin even further, and then snap altogether.

  Thinking about waving Grace off at the airport and ostensibly breaking that final physical connection in a matter of weeks left me feeling bleak. Her leaving would force me to face this weird kind of limbo I’d backed myself into.

  4

  Grace

  Sunday lunch went better than she expected. For a family that ran sheep, a beef topside roast was a rare treat.

  ‘That was yummy. I didn’t realise you were such a good cook,’ Faith said.

  ‘Thanks. I don’t mind cooking every now and then.’

  ‘Just as well, because I’d imagine these blokes haven’t rattled a pan since you arrived.’

  ‘Give a bloke a fair go! I cooked the barbie last night.’

  ‘Sure, Tim, but I bet Grace got everything ready and cleaned up afterwards.’

  Grace locked eyes with Faith, and she relished the brief moment of sisterhood. Doug didn’t comment, but Grace noticed that he’d followed the light-hearted banter between the siblings.

  ‘What about ice cream? Can’t have bread and butter pudding without ice cream,’ Doug said when Grace put a bowl of dessert on the table in front of him. Dessert had been Faith’s contribution towards the meal.

  ‘Yeah, you can’t have it without ice cream,’ ten-year-old Liam echoed, grinning at his granddad. Grace did a double take when the old man grinned right back. So her father hadn’t forgotten how to smile after all.

  A knot of emotions wedged beneath Grace’s sternum. Sunday lunch with the family brought back bittersweet memories. The only person missing was their mother. And Luke, of course.

  But it was her mother’s God-given right to be there, not isolated back in Adelaide in a one-bedroom unit that would never quite feel like home. It wasn’t fair that she was missing out on so much. Liam was ten, Amelia was coming up to her eighth birthday.

  Anger coursed through Grace, shoving aside gentler emotions. Sarah should be here, with her children, watching her grandchildren grow up, and if—

  ‘Grace, do you want ice cream?’ Faith said, scoop in hand.

  Not trusting herself to speak, or even look at her sister, Grace shook her head. Swallowing the pudding on its own would be nigh on impossible.

  Over the years, Grace had learned to put her feelings on hold whenever she visited Miners Ridge. She’d consciously gritted her teeth and gone through the motions of her role as daughter and sister to get through the few days, two or three times a year. As much as the visits were a chore, she’d kept them up mostly for her mother’s sake.

  Why was it different this time? Her emotions weren’t always this close to the surface when she was here. The only explanation she could think of was that this time when she said goodbye, she wouldn’t be back for a very long time.

  The dessert in her bowl was a curdled mess. She looked up, hoping no one had noticed her not eating. Across the table Doug was watching her. Their eyes met, and he quickly glanced away. If he said anything about the food not being good enough for her, she’d probably hurl the bowl at him.

  But it was if he sensed how wound up she was. She watched him. He swallowed, and shifted his attention to his empty plate.

  Grace picked up her bowl and excused herself from the table. ‘I think I’ll go take the meat scraps to the dogs,’ she said. The others were too busy arguing over who’d have the last serve of bread and butter pudding to notice.

  A farm wouldn’t be a farm without dogs, and the Fairley’s farm was no exception. Two sleek black-and-tan kelpies gathered around her when she stepped out the back door, back ends wagging. It took all of thirty seconds for the scraps to disappear. Grace laughed with delight.

  It was another gorgeous autumn afternoon. A gust of wind sent a shiver through the gumtree that towered over the backyard. Spent leaves drifted down onto the dead lawn under the clothesline. The dogs took off, distracted by something near the sheds. With no desire to go inside again, Grace tilted her face to the sun, wandering past the carport and the rainwater tanks to where her mother’s old vegetable garden lay.

  Her delight with the dogs drained away when she saw the veggie patch. The fence that kept out the rabbits and roos had all but fallen over and the garden was a tangle of overgrown weeds.

  Grace was sure the rusting wheelbarrow was still where her mother had left it eight years earlier, its tyre now perished. A pile of tomato stakes were stacked to one side of it, hollowed out by white ants; and a roll of tattered shade cloth was propped haphazardly against the garden shed.

  Grief and regret weighed on Grace. Tears weren’t far away.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  Tim. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone and mind his own business for once?

  ‘Nothing in particular,’ she said, kicking at the wire weed with the toe of her boot. But the weed didn’t budge. The ground was like cement.

  Her brother stopped beside her, taking in the scene. ‘Nothing’s been done here since she left,’ he said, sadness in his voice. ‘Wheelbarrow’s about buggered.’

  ‘I wonder sometimes if she regrets leaving. Especially now, after the cancer.’

  Tim grunted, and Grace kept talking because she needed to say these things and he was there.

  ‘But there’s no going back is there? Just ask Luke. Although, we can’t can we, because he’s gone too.’ She turned towards Tim. ‘Why do we have to go on pretending he didn’t exist? He did. And I want to remember him, talk about him with the people who knew and loved him. How come town people like Aaron Halliday and Carol Claremont talk about him but we never do?’ Grace stopped, pressing the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. She wouldn’t cry in front of Tim.

  ‘I visit his grave—on his birthday, at Christmastime. I never tell Dad. With Dad it’s like Luke never existed. Faith doesn’t mention him either. But someone else visits the grave because there’s never a weed to be seen, and on his birthday in July there are always fresh flowers in a glass jar.’

  She squinted at Tim. ‘Are ther
e? I visit when I’m here, and like you said, it’s always tidy, no weeds, but I’ve never seen flowers. Maybe we could go together, while I’m here this time? I could get flowers.’

  Tim nodded. ‘I should be able to get away, now the tractor’s back in action. When are you going to tell the others you’re going to live in London?’

  ‘I thought today would work, while everyone was here, but it didn’t feel right. And I thought you would have already told Dad.’

  ‘Not my news to tell,’ Tim said, straightening one of the fence droppers. It tilted over precariously as soon as he let it go.

  ‘I suppose I’ll tell Faith and Ben on Wednesday night when I go there for dinner. Dad, well, I’m not sure he’ll even care.’

  Tim lifted his shoulders, dropping them on a slow exhale. ‘You might be surprised, Grace. I think the old man cares more than we give him credit. And he’s not getting any younger.’

  The dogs came back, sniffing and snuffling around the vegetable patch, taking it in turns to water the wheelbarrow.

  ‘Do you think Mum will ever come back? For a visit or something?’ Tim said.

  Grace’s eyes widened. She jammed her hands into the pockets of her jeans, not sure how to answer. She decided on honesty.

  ‘Before she got sick, I would have said definitely no, but now there’s this kind of melancholy about her. I know she thinks more about the past. She misses everyone. Maybe she’d like to rebuild bridges. But I don’t know if she has the wherewithal to make the first move.’

  Tim snorted. ‘She was the one who left.’

  ‘Really, Tim?’ Grace’s expression turned sceptical. ‘Any sane person who had to put up with what she did would have left. I’m surprised she stayed as long as she did.’

  ‘What do you know? You weren’t even here.’

  Grace could feel his anger, see it in the set of his chin. If she wanted to split hairs she could say he hadn’t been there either. Neither was Faith, who was married and lived in Miners Ridge, pregnant with her second child. Tim was living in town with his then girlfriend Mandy, and working at Olympic Dam. In his days off he’d helped out on the farm.