When Grace Went Away

by Meredith Appleyard

  ‘But then he was killed and it was just Doug and me. They were difficult years, Carol. If it wasn’t for Tim coming home on and off … And Grace. And then little Liam came along.’

  ‘I bet they were awful years. I’m sorry. It’s easy for people on the outside to speculate, and judge, but you never know what’s going on inside a relationship.’

  ‘Sometimes there’s nothing at all going on inside the relationship. You just exist from one day to the next. I’d wake up some days and wish I were dead. But then I’d think of my other children, and my grandchild, and I couldn’t give up. And I kept hoping Doug would talk to me. But he never did.’

  Carol chose another biscuit, dunking this one into her drink. ‘My husband could be charming when it suited him, but it turned out he was a bastard, pure and simple,’ she said. ‘He liked the booze too much, never worked if he could help it and screwed around if he got the chance. April married a clone of her father, and Louise … Her ex is moody, but he seemed reasonable enough from a distance. As much as I love her, Louise can be difficult. I sometimes wonder where Emma’s sunny disposition comes from.’

  I didn’t comment, having experienced firsthand how difficult Louise could be.

  After we’d finished our coffee, Carol helped me lug in the belongings from the front yard. There was a cardboard box full of photo albums, pictures of the kids mainly, from before digital cameras and smartphones. There were boxes of books, cake tins and saucepans, Tupperware, and a tarnished brass lamp base. Heaven knows where the lampshade was. I didn’t remember the lamp being mine.

  The suitcase containing my wedding dress was at the bottom of the pile. At that moment I could have pulled it out and burned it.

  ‘Fancy a bonfire?’ I said. Carol looked at me strangely. ‘Never mind. I don’t have matches, or an accelerant of any kind.’

  ‘I do have a cigarette lighter in the car … And a container of petrol,’ she said.

  ‘You have?’

  ‘Yep. You never know when you might run out of juice.’ She lifted her eyebrows in question and I nodded. She collected the petrol and lighter from her car.

  The suitcase latches were rusty so it took a couple of goes before the lid sprang open. When Carol saw what was inside she gave a hoot of laughter. ‘Here, or out the back?’ she said.

  ‘Here,’ I said, glancing across the street. ‘The neighbours already wonder about me, bless their hearts. I’ll get some old newspapers.’

  Like a pro Carol built the small bonfire. ‘Now then, are you sure about this, Sarah? Once it’s gone, it’s gone.’

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘You don’t think Grace would want to wear the dress if she ever gets married?’

  ‘Ha,’ I scoffed. ‘If she were here, she’d dance around the bonfire with us. I can’t wait to tell her!’

  Carol soaked the newspaper and the yellowing satin folds with petrol, running a narrow wick of fuel about a metre from the pile.

  ‘You’ve done this before,’ I said.

  ‘I have, and we don’t want any singed eyebrows.’ She handed me the lighter. ‘You can do the honours.’

  It took a second for the petrol on the ground to catch, the low blue-tinged flame racing towards the soaked paper and wedding gown. It went up with a whoomph! We cheered. Both of us jumped up and down, laughing wildly. Carol elbowed me and pointed. There was the inquisitive neighbour, standing in her driveway, looking horrified. Syd was hanging over the fence, riveted.

  It didn’t take long before all that remained were ashes, a charred twist of fabric and a smoky, acrid smell. My clothes and hair would stink. Mrs Nosy was still standing in her driveway, watching. I waved. She turned and scurried inside. Carol and I grinned at each other.

  After making sure the fire was out, Carol went home. She was working in the hotel bar that afternoon and evening, filling in for a staff member on holidays.

  The high of burning the wedding gown carried me through the remainder of the day. I showered and washed my hair to get rid of the smell, but I wouldn’t let myself regret the bonfire.

  When Liam and Amelia came by after school they asked about the black patch in the front yard. ‘I burned some rubbish,’ I said.

  Ten-year-old Liam looked sceptical. ‘Dad said you have to get a permit from the council to burn rubbish in the town.’ He surveyed the barren front yard. ‘And where’s the hose, Grandma?’ I looked at him. He sounded just like his mother.

  ‘We had a bucket of water nearby,’ I fibbed, and Amelia smirked.

  ‘Don’t be such a dweeb, Liam.’

  In the end I decided against telling Grace. When Faith asked about the patch of scorched earth I told her the same story I’d told the kids. I don’t think she believed me either.

  The following day I eyeballed Kaylene Bretag in the next aisle at the supermarket. I tracked her to the dairy section. Bega cheese was on special and she couldn’t decide whether to get two or three blocks.

  ‘Hello, Kaylene,’ I said, marvelling at my own temerity. She fumbled with the cheeses and put all three into her trolley.

  ‘Sarah,’ she said, squinting through thick-lensed glasses.

  ‘Keep your nose out of my business,’ I said, close enough to see that she still bleached the dark hairs on her top lip.

  ‘Anything that affects Doug is my business. We’re family, and someone needs to look out for him,’ she said, then dropped her voice to hiss. ‘I don’t know why you came back here.’

  ‘My grandchildren are here, and I’ve spent more than half my life living here. I’m not leaving yet, so get used to it.’

  My audacity had reached its limits. I could feel the wobbles coming. Sticking my nose in the air, I sailed off with my trolley load of groceries. I didn’t catch what she muttered in my wake.

  Unfortunately, we arrived at the checkouts simultaneously. Without looking in Kaylene’s direction I pulled up to the closest checkout and started piling my fruit and veg onto the counter.

  As luck would have it, Walt Bancroft was the customer in front of me. He was chatting to the young girl as she scanned his butter, milk, bananas and fruit loaf. Then he realised I was behind him.

  ‘Sarah, hello,’ he said, loud enough for everyone in the shop to hear. ‘All ready for tonight?’ I wanted to hide under the counter.

  ‘Yes, I’m ready for tonight’s gallery meeting,’ I said with emphasis.

  Although I had my back to Kaylene and we were separated by a checkout counter, I knew she would be hanging on every word, taking mental notes so she could update Doug.

  ‘Did Carol drop off the notes and things?’

  ‘Yes, thanks,’ I said. He paid and the girl started on my groceries. He left and I relaxed, even took a quick peek at Kaylene.

  To my dismay Walt was waiting for me outside. He’d already put his shopping in his car.

  ‘I’ll walk you to your car,’ he said, reaching for my two chock-a-block green bags.

  Kaylene chose that moment to bulldoze her way out of the front doors with her trolley. If she’d had a camera I’m sure she would have stopped and taken a photo of me and Walt.

  ‘Strange,’ he said, as Kaylene slowly traipsed past, craning her neck to watch us for as long as she could.

  ‘Isn’t she,’ I said, flicking my eyes heavenward and trudging off towards where the SUV was parked.

  He fell into step beside me. My respect for Walt escalated when he didn’t ask who she was or why she’d taken such a keen interest in us.

  I suppose I should be grateful, because in the three months I’d been back in Miners Ridge there hadn’t been any awkward moments with folk who’d known me before.

  I wondered why Kaylene had taken so long to surface. And why I’d never spared her a thought until Doug had mentioned her yesterday.

  There were a handful of other related Fairleys around the place, and the longer I was back the more likely it was that I’d run into them. Perhaps I needed to prepare myself for similar confrontations. Maybe the odd am
bush.

  Walt didn’t comment on my obvious preoccupation. He stowed the bags of groceries on the back seat. I thanked him.

  ‘See you tonight,’ I said.

  He doffed an imaginary hat and with a satisfied expression on his face, he strolled off to where he’d parked his vehicle.

  44

  Grace

  On the first day of November it rained. London temperatures plunged and the cold front followed. The daylight hours were shortening and Grace had reached the six-month mark of her stay in the city. Tim was in Ireland having a ball, and Aaron had been back in Miners Ridge for the best part of two weeks.

  Their parting had been short and sharp, like the ripping off of a bandaid. Aaron said there was no point dwelling on the inevitable, that he hated goodbyes.

  He had packed his bag the day before while Grace was at work. She’d helped him with his washing earlier.

  ‘My shirts don’t get ironed at home,’ he’d said, but she’d insisted.

  That last evening, spent at her place, had been like any other evening they’d spent together. Aaron cooked Spanish paella, no mean feat with the apartment’s limited kitchen facilities. They’d chatted about her day and the weather. And even if neither of them spoke about his impending departure, it was there between them.

  On the day of his departure, Aaron had left for Heathrow at the same time she’d left for the office. They’d travelled together into the city, Grace hanging tightly onto his hand. Grace’s personal scepticism that there was any kind of future for them meant that for her they were saying goodbye forever. Aaron had seemed much more upbeat.

  Outside the Canary Wharf Underground they’d hugged long and hard.

  ‘Don’t cry, Gracie,’ he’d said when she’d shuddered against him. ‘I couldn’t bear it.’

  So she’d waited until she was in the privacy of a cubicle in the ladies toilets before she’d followed through and howled her eyes out. All she could see whenever she closed her eyes was Aaron walking away from her.

  But now the pain had eased to a dull ache. When Grace was busy, caught up in work, she had some respite from missing him.

  Her rational brain told her that the loss she felt was disproportionate to the amount of time they’d spent together. She hadn’t known him long enough to be feeling his absence so acutely. But her heart knew otherwise.

  Grace woke one night from sleep with a vague pain in her chest. Lying on her stomach, she wondered whether she was having a heart attack. Rolling onto her back, the pain eased. When she searched for her phone in the event she needed an ambulance, she discovered she’d been lying on it. Not a heart attack after all.

  She remembered scrolling through pictures of their weekend in Paris. Grace must have fallen asleep and dropped the phone into the bed.

  As promised, Lucy had taken her out drinking the evening Aaron had flown home. The drinking went as planned but all Grace could talk about was where in the air he’d be at that moment, and was he missing her as much as she was missing him.

  In the end Lucy gave up trying to distract her and packed her into a cab and sent her home. Grace had phoned and apologised the next day.

  ‘I must have come across like a lovestruck teenager, not a mature, middle-aged woman,’ she’d said, and Lucy hadn’t contradicted her.

  Aaron had called briefly after he disembarked in Adelaide. He’d sounded so far away. She’d cried after they disconnected, and hadn’t stopped crying on and off for the rest of the day. Luckily it’d been Sunday and she didn’t have to explain her red, watery eyes to anyone.

  And as promised Lucy had taken Grace along when she’d visited her parents in Kent the following weekend.

  Tara Trudeau was a willowy blonde like her daughter. Henry Trudeau was short and stout and very jolly. He wore a tweed blazer with leather patches at the elbows: the epitome of the English country gentleman.

  They doted on their daughter, and each other. Grace was welcomed with open arms, but their togetherness only highlighted her aloneness.

  They showed Grace around their home and the village with the passion of people who loved their life and where they lived. On Sunday morning, after a cooked English breakfast of sausage, eggs and beans, the Trudeaus insisted they take Grace to visit Scotney Castle, a short drive from their village.

  The weather was cool but clear, an outstanding autumn day, and the English country house with its formal gardens was a palette of reds and golds. The old castle even had a moat. Grace found it far easier to enjoy the day than she’d envisaged when they’d suggested the trip.

  ‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ Lucy said, after her father had dropped them at the train station for the evening journey back to London.

  ‘It was excellent,’ Grace said. ‘Thank you for generously inviting me. Your parents are terrific. And you have been a wonderful friend. I would have been moping all weekend if I’d stayed home.’

  ‘They adored the Aussie wine you took them. They’ll have you back anytime.’

  However, the weekend in the country with Lucy and her parents brought on an acute relapse of Grace’s homesickness. Sunday night she barely slept reflecting on all the things Aaron had said, and just how far away he was.

  Monday morning, Grace bit the bullet and rang HR about taking holidays. She needed something to look forward to. And her mother would be pleased to see her.

  And Aaron … Just thinking about seeing him cheered her up. Maybe, just maybe, they could make this work.

  Grace knew she had accrued the leave, but also appreciated that Richard was still away and with Grant gone they were down one senior analyst. And she had taken a few extra days as annual leave when she went home for Nanna’s funeral.

  The woman in HR wasn’t very helpful, telling Grace she’d get back to her. Grace hung up the phone feeling more frustrated and out of sorts than before the call.

  At lunchtime, she ventured out for fresh air. The office felt claustrophobic, and the chatter in the lunch room annoying.

  Outside it was cold. The sky was a gunmetal grey, the briny, muddy smell of the nearby waterways ever-present. Grace walked the block, imagining springtime in Miners Ridge. The apple blossom, the budding rose bushes and the sunshine.

  She had almost looped back to the office when her phone vibrated in her pocket. Tim was calling.

  ‘How goes it?’ he said, all the way from Limerick.

  ‘Good,’ she said with forced brightness. ‘What about you?’

  ‘I’m amazingly good,’ he said. ‘I love this place. It’s so green—so different from the brown paddocks of home. And the people are terrific.’

  ‘Yeah, I remember the green. They don’t call it the Emerald Isle for nothing. The days are getting colder.’

  ‘It’s freezing here, but I’m on holiday so I don’t care!’ he said, and Grace almost couldn’t bear how chipper he sounded. ‘We went to see the Cliffs of Moher, but it was foggy and we couldn’t see a bloody thing. We’re heading back to Dublin at the end of the week, and then we’re off to Turkey.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘Allie and I, and another couple we’ve hooked up with.’

  ‘Allie? Why have you not mentioned before now that you have a travelling companion?’

  ‘It sort of just happened. We met in Scotland, at Loch Ness. Then we kept bumping into each other at different places. Believe it or not, she’s a registered nurse, originally from Jamestown of all places. Her folks broadacre crop and grow a few sheep out that way. She’s been travelling around for about six months.’

  Grace turned her back into the bitterly cold wind that was whipping between the high-rise buildings. It penetrated her winter coat and she hugged it closer.

  ‘I’m glad you’re having a good time, Tim.’

  ‘I am, Grace. It’s a dream come true. You leaving Adelaide was the best thing. Mum wouldn’t have gone back to Miners Ridge if you hadn’t.’

  ‘No, I don’t suppose she would have,’ Grace said. Her leaving had certainly been a
catalyst for change.

  ‘You don’t sound your usual bubbly self, sister of mine.’

  ‘Oh, I’m not looking forward to a London winter, commuting both ways in the dark. Adelaide doesn’t even get cold compared with this place.’

  ‘When’s Aaron coming back?’

  ‘I don’t know that he is. He has his work … Family in Adelaide … His dad’s been crook.’

  ‘Why don’t you go home then?’

  ‘I have been considering taking a couple of weeks’ annual leave.’

  ‘I don’t mean holidays, I mean going home for good.’

  ‘I can’t do that! I’m only six months into my contract.’

  ‘If you’re serious about Aaron, maybe you need to rethink your priorities. You shouldn’t expect him to wait forever.’

  Grace pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.

  ‘Just saying,’ Tim said when she didn’t speak. And, as if he didn’t know when to quit, he kept at it. ‘Mum’s not getting any younger either, and soon you’ll have another niece or nephew who you won’t know.’

  ‘Says the intrepid traveller who hardly ever phones his mother—’ She stopped, shifted the phone to the other ear. ‘I’m sorry, Tim,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to snap. I don’t want to argue with you.’

  ‘I don’t want to argue with you either. Mum suggested I try to make it back to London for Christmas. What do you think?’

  ‘That would be wonderful,’ she said. ‘Bring Allie.’

  ‘Oh, she’ll be back in Oz by then. Due back at work in the middle of December.’

  ‘Well, it’ll just be the two of us. I’ll suss out a good place to have Christmas dinner.’

  ‘What’s wrong with your place?’

  ‘You don’t mind my cooking, then?’

  ‘I’ve eaten plenty of it and I’m still alive.’

  Grace spoke with her brother for a while longer about Ireland and where he planned to go in Turkey. Then Tim said, ‘I phoned Dad.’