‘It’s a lot to take in,’ I said, lifting my shoulders.
‘Isn’t it. Did I do the right thing by telling you?’
‘Yes,’ I said vehemently, reinforcing it with a vigorous nod. I don’t think she believed me.
We were up very early the following morning, way before the two alarms we’d set. Neither of us had slept well, but the bags under my eyes were the worst. We’d talked until late, and then I’d been mulling over the things she’d said, not coming up with any satisfactory answers or explanations.
But now, on our way to the airport, there were so many things I wished we’d talked about before we’d run out of time.
‘Don’t forget to get your photo taken and finish the passport application. Then you’ll be ready to come anytime. It shouldn’t take me long to settle in, and there’s so much to see and do in London. And with my place as a base …’
I didn’t have the heart to tell her I wouldn’t come. I’d been to London on a five-week Contiki tour of the UK and Europe forty-seven years ago. The trip had quenched my thirst for overseas travel. And Grace had spent enough of her hard-earned money on me.
We checked in her luggage and trekked through the security checks with her carry-on.
‘Coffee?’ she asked.
Ten minutes later we were perching on plastic stools sipping overpriced and mediocre coffee, me trying to look cheerful.
‘Thanks for bringing me to the airport, Mum. Promise me you’ll use the car. It’ll make visiting Nanna so much easier. And you could always go for a drive.’
‘I promise I will,’ I said, and that wasn’t a fib. It would be good to have a car at my disposal again. No more catching two buses to visit Mum every other day in the aged-care facility. Not that she recognised me anymore.
Then it was time for Grace to go. My palms felt clammy, and I had to moisten my mouth before I could speak.
‘You look lovely,’ I said, and she did. From her glossy shoulder-length bob to the light, woollen knit top, sleek leggings and ankle boots, she was the epitome of the jet-setting career woman. The emerald silk scarf brought out the green in her hazel-coloured eyes.
‘Thanks, Mum,’ she said, and I could see she was fighting back the tears as hard as I was. And then we both gave up, falling into each other’s arms, blubbering noisily.
‘Look after yourself, sweetheart. Enjoy your wonderful adventure. I love you.’
‘Love you too, and you of all people know it’s nowhere near as glamorous as it sounds,’ she said, giving a watery laugh before blowing her nose. ‘I’ll phone as soon as we land. And Mum, I have no idea what you should do about Dad. Maybe nothing. He doesn’t deserve it. However, if you feel you need to do something, talk to Tim first, that would be my suggestion. He’s prickly but not a complete lost cause. Faith … I hate to say it, but I think she is a lost cause.’
Another fierce hug before she was swallowed into the cavernous opening of International Departures.
Though I’d tried never to favour one child over another, Grace was my firstborn, and the one who’d provided a loving, healing refuge to me when I needed it most. There wasn’t a time since Luke’s death that she hadn’t been there for me, and I loved her all the more for it.
However, my perspective wasn’t so blinkered that I couldn’t admit Grace was the only one of my three living children who’d been in a position to take me in.
Although there was no chance of another glimpse of her, I hung around the airport for an hour, treating myself to another outrageously expensive coffee before browsing overpriced wares in brightly lit boutiques. When I left I was in for another hit at the parking pay station.
The weather was dreary, and the Monday morning traffic aggressive and impatient. I hadn’t been behind the wheel of a car for months. Talk about baptism by fire. By the time I parked Grace’s sleek BMW SUV in my narrow garage my hands were shaking. Why couldn’t she own an early model Corolla?
Keep busy, I told myself five minutes later when I was standing over the kitchen sink, tears welling on seeing the tea mug Grace had used that morning.
Mustering the courage, I stripped the futon and wrangled it back into a sofa shape before loading the washing machine with the sheets and quilt cover. Next, the dishes, and then I’d clear out the toiletries Grace had left in the bathroom. After lunch I’d drive to the nursing home to visit Mum.
Life without Grace … The reality was overwhelming. My only hope was to tackle it a day at a time.
8
Grace
Flying business class was a bonus and while Grace arrived at Heathrow Airport tired, she wasn’t delirious with exhaustion like many of her fellow travellers. Clearing customs, she let relief wash over her when she spotted an arm in the crowd holding up a placard with Fairley and the bank logo printed across it.
Juggling one extra large and one cabin size suitcase, and her shoulder bag, she braced herself and headed through the press of bodies towards the waving placard. When she was close enough to establish who owned the arm, her stomach clenched and then tied itself in a knot. Grant Hughes. Mentor, then friend, and for a while, lover. What on earth was he doing here?
‘Surprise!’ he said, and dragged her into an enthusiastic embrace, luggage and all.
He felt and smelled familiar and, kilometres from home and in her fatigued state, she was tempted to cling.
Nope, not going there again, she thought, untangling herself.
‘Surprise is an understatement,’ she said. ‘What are you doing in London? Here, grab this, if you don’t mind.’ She passed him the handle of the large suitcase, and pulling her carry-on, shoulder bag slung across a shoulder, they wove their way towards the exit.
‘Do you need food, coffee, the restroom? I drove and I’m in the short-term car park. We’ll be in the city in an hour and a bit. I thought we could have a late breakfast then.’
‘Suits me.’
‘You’re travelling light,’ he said, indicating the suitcase he was towing.
‘I’ve got all I need to get me started. Mum’ll send more gear if I need it.’
They were separated for a moment by a family of five, laden with luggage. Grace took in the teeming travellers and well-wishers surrounding them. Talk about a cultural melting pot.
When they came back together Grant said, ‘And how is your mum? Monica said she’d been crook.’
Monica Tierney was a mutual colleague. She split her time between the bank’s Adelaide and Sydney offices.
‘She was. Bowel cancer. We’re keeping our fingers crossed that it won’t come back. So far, so good.’
She threw Grant a sidelong glance but he was looking down at his phone. As usual he was impeccably dressed in a charcoal grey suit, brilliant white shirt, and crimson red tie. If her calculations were right, he’d be fifty this year, but looked five years younger. No paunch from all the long lunches, and his wavy, brown hair was attractively streaked with grey at the temples.
‘You didn’t answer my question: why are you here?’
‘Because you are.’
‘What do you mean, because I am?’
‘Call it serendipity if you like. They needed me to be in London for a while, and I saw an internal memo about your transfer.’ He glanced at her, waiting for a reaction.
His eyes were blue, a pale wish-washy blue, unlike a piercing sapphire blue pair she’d looked into recently. Unbidden, an image of Aaron Halliday popped into her head. Taken aback, she gave her head a tiny shake. ‘Not going to happen, Grant.’
‘I’ve left my wife.’
‘What, you left her at home in Sydney?’
‘Don’t be a wise-arse, Grace, you know exactly what I mean.’
‘And how many times does that make it that you’ve left her? Two? Or is it three?’
Grant didn’t say another word until they were on their way, buckled into his Mercedes hire car en route to the M4.
‘It’s for good this time. Patrice’s found someone she likes better than me
and my money.’
‘Harsh.’
‘But true.’
‘What about Jordan and Carly?’
‘The twins? They’re both at uni now, way too busy with their own lives to care what their parents do with theirs.’
Grace gazed out the car window. Drizzly rain slicked the roads. Everything was grey; it was hard to distinguish where the horizon ended and the sky began. She remembered the weather from the times she’d visited London as a tourist.
‘Don’t be too sure about that. Children care more than you’d think,’ she said.
He grunted, his full attention on the road in the hazardous driving conditions.
‘I thought I’d show you your apartment first. You can drop off your luggage, freshen up and change if you like. We can grab a coffee and a bite to eat, and then I’ll take you to the office. They’re having a few drinks this evening, to welcome you into the fold.’
‘That sounds lovely, thanks,’ she said. Grant always did know how to put a plan into operation, anything from a corporate takeover to welcoming drinks. Pity he couldn’t organise his personal life.
‘I might just call Mum, if you don’t mind. I sent her a quick text when I landed.’
‘Go right ahead,’ he said.
Finding her phone, Grace scrolled through to her mother’s number, disconcerted when it went to message bank. It would be early evening in Adelaide. She left a brief message saying she’d call again later.
She was pensively staring at her phone when it beeped with an incoming message. Expecting it to be her mother, she was surprised to read, Happy landings, I trust? All’s well here. Aaron.
Nonplussed, she reread the message, her lips turning up at the corners. Although she’d only mentioned in passing when she was leaving, he’d remembered—almost down to the hour. She replied to his message.
Hello! Landed, and happy for now. Grace.
She deliberated for a second and then added an X. Got a thumbs up in reply.
‘Good news?’ Grant queried, trying to see the screen of her phone.
‘More like surprising news,’ she said. ‘In a good way, I think.’ He raised his eyebrows, returning his focus to the road and the traffic.
By eight pm that night Grace was swaying on her three-inch heels. She’d changed into them when they’d dropped off her luggage at the North Greenwich apartment. After two glasses of wine at the office welcoming party, the jet lag was fast catching up. And the day had been full; so many people and such a lot to take in. Grant’s face was the only familiar one and she was grateful he was there.
All day he’d been solicitous in his attention, making sure she was fed and caffeinated, showing her around and introducing her to the appropriate people.
Her office in the bank’s multi-storey premises on Canary Wharf was lovely. It was larger than her office in Adelaide, with modern furniture and computer hardware but no view of the Thames.
‘You must be ready for home,’ Grant said, close to her ear.
‘I daren’t sit down, in case I fall asleep.’
‘Grab your things and we’ll go.’
‘Put me in a cab. I’ll be fine.’
He shook his head. ‘The place I’m staying is only a stone’s throw from you. I can pick you up in the morning.’
‘Thanks, but my executive assistant, Sue, organised an Oyster Card, and I can find my way on the Underground. The North Greenwich tube station’s only a ten-minute walk from the apartment, and Canary Wharf’s the next stop.’
‘I keep forgetting this isn’t your first time in London.’
‘No, but living and working here is a bit different to being a tourist.’
‘Did she tell you the bank provides a car and a driver if you prefer?’
‘Yes, and I’m sure it’ll come in handy after hours.’
Collecting her shoulder bag and umbrella from her office, she gave the room a satisfied once-over before closing the door. She waved goodnight to the few stragglers and left with Grant.
On the way down in the lift she said, ‘Thanks for today, Grant. I appreciate you taking time out to pick me up and show me around. Having a familiar face—’
‘A familiar face? I hope I’m more than that,’ he said quietly.
Over the course of the evening he’d loosened his tie, unbuttoned his suit jacket. In the confines of the lift Grace could smell the remnants of his cologne. She was close enough to see the beginnings of stubble on his chin. It’d been a long day for him as well.
‘Grant—’
He held up his hand. ‘I know now’s not the time for this conversation, we’re both tired. But are you involved with anyone?’
‘If you’re asking me if I’m in a relationship, no, I’m not. In my experience long distance doesn’t work.’
His smile was wry. He knew she meant their relationship. It had been progressing nicely, until he’d returned to Sydney and, as it turned out, his wife.
‘What we had going was pretty good, wasn’t it?’
She couldn’t disagree. It’d been one of the best years of her life. Given more time together she might have fallen in love with him.
‘It was. But not quite good enough, was it, Grant?’ she said as the lift doors opened onto the office foyer. ‘Not good enough for you to stay in Adelaide. But we’re not having this conversation now, are we.’
He stared at her. The doors started to close. She shoved her hand out to stop them. With each step her heels echoed on the tiles. A security guard appeared out of nowhere to check them out.
They made their way to the parking garage. It was still drizzling, grey and gloomy, although the sun was yet to set. The footpath was slick, and her feet hurt.
‘Be fair, Grace. You said you’d come to Sydney. You were going to apply for a transfer,’ he said when they were in the car, both glaring through the windscreen at the concrete wall in front of them.
Grace stifled a yawn. Her mouth felt sour and her head was starting to pound. ‘Grant, we made our choices back then.’
‘Don’t I get a second chance?’
She closed her eyes. ‘I am not talking about this tonight. Either take me to the apartment, or put me in a cab.’
He started the car. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Let’s forget we even discussed it, and we’ll start over when we’re not so tired.’
Nodding took all the energy she had left. She kept her eyes closed and dozed, surprised when he said, ‘We’re here.’
She blinked herself awake, quickly gathering her thoughts. ‘Goodnight,’ she said as she climbed out. ‘And thanks.’ Grace was already in motion, closing the car door.
‘Be here at seven in the morning and I’ll pick you up,’ he said, and was pulling away from the kerb before she could form any words of protest.
Taking little notice of her surroundings, she found her keycard in her bag, inserting it into the security lock the way Grant had earlier that day. With a wave to the security guard loitering in the foyer, she pressed the button for the lift, grateful when the doors opened immediately.
Her one-bedroom apartment was on the seventh floor. She let herself in, showered, cleaned her teeth and fell into bed exhausted.
9
Heart racing, it took Grace a few long seconds to orientate herself to where she was: the other side of the world, thousands of kilometres from home.
It was five-thirty in the morning, and insipid grey daylight seeped in around the drapes.
She tumbled out of bed and shuffled to the tiny kitchenette, filling the electric kettle. The fridge and pantry were stocked with the basics and it wasn’t long before she was sipping tea and wandering around, taking a closer look at what would be her home for the foreseeable future.
The apartment was compact. The floors were polished pine, cool under her bare feet. The kitchenette was well-equipped for its size. There was a microwave and a dishwasher and, on opening the floor-to-ceiling cupboards, she was confronted by a front-loading washing machine and clothes dryer.
Her view from the living room was a hotchpotch of buildings and construction sites, and a wedge of relentlessly dull sky. Staring out at the London skyline, she called her mother.
‘Mum, I’m here,’ she said, the impact of how far away from home she was hitting her afresh. ‘How are you? What are you doing?’
‘Hello, love, I’m with your Nanna.’
‘Did you take the car?’
‘Yes, I did.’
‘How is Nanna?’
‘She’s miserable, that’s why I came again today. She has a runny nose and I think her temperature is up. One of her carers said that a few of the residents have colds. When they’re this old and frail a cold can escalate to a chest infection in a matter of days.’
‘I hope she didn’t catch the cold from me when I dropped in to say goodbye.’
‘I doubt it, love. There are so many people in and out of that place. And how are you? Sorry I missed you when you rang yesterday.’
How was she? A good question. Grace’s cold, if that’s what it’d been, had cleared up, but otherwise she didn’t know how she was. What she did know was that after eight hours sleep she felt tired and jet lagged, and she had a headache. Not to mention the moments of self-doubt, wondering why she was there.
‘I’m okay,’ she said, injecting as much enthusiasm into her voice as she could. ‘Yesterday was huge. I met so many people, all my team and then some. My exec assistant, Sue, seems very capable.
‘They had welcome drinks for me in the evening, and I nearly fell asleep standing up.’ Grace yawned, her jaw cracking. ‘I’d love to go back to bed and have an easy day getting my bearings, but Grant will be here to pick me up at seven, and I’ve already seen my schedule for the rest of the week.’
‘Grant?’
‘Grant Hughes.’
‘What on earth is he doing there?’
‘No idea, Mum, but once I got over my surprise, having a familiar person to show me around has been nice. He’s been helpful,’ she said, and her mother snorted. Grace laughed. Her mother had tolerated Grant, barely.
When Grace Went Away Page 6