Grace hadn’t full appreciated the wisdom of that story until later. Looking back she could see that was exactly what had happened to her and just how cleverly it had been executed.
The early incidents were small enough as to be seen as insignificant. Being unfairly blamed for leaving the studio door unlocked, her car door getting keyed, a major assignment she had handed in going missing and having the unsettling feeling that someone had been in her room during the day were not pleasant but were easy enough to shrug off. But then things started to escalate.
First her personal coach was changed. So far into the year there was no logic in such a change and neither she or the coach were told why, beyond that the management committee stated that the new pairing was a better fit. They were not, in fact far from it, but to avoid making waves Grace had gritted her teeth and gotten on with it, considering herself experienced enough to polish her own performances.
Next, her practice blocks were changed to all evening. While this could sometimes happen in the junior school and was considered a rite of passage it was unheard of for seniors. When she questioned the change she was called into the principal’s office and told to toughen up. ‘Get used to it,’ Ms Van der Linden had sneered, ‘the performance world is not for the weak willed.’ Hating how isolated this new schedule made her feel but seeing no alternative, Grace once again put her head down and toughed it out.
Slowly the combination of the two factors began to take its toll. Her new coach Mrs Morley was a tyrant, who stood over Grace’s left shoulder at every practice session and slowly pecked away at her self-confidence. The evening practice sessions ran longer, leaving her exhausted and with little time to complete her other homework. This in turn necessitated her getting up early in the morning to catch up despite being so tired.
* * * * *
Intrigued by what she was hearing, Sylvia said, ‘I’m going to read between the lines and guess it was Ms Van der Linden who was behind all this?’
Grace nodded slowly. ‘Uh huh. Her secretary Mrs Adams had seen the article and kept it for her, thinking it was a nice story about the school. But Ms VDL didn’t see it that way. Her spin on it was that she had been deceived and that Strauss’ reputation was sullied as a result.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yep. Not that she ever confronted me about it. Instead she just kept tormenting me in her own special way.’
‘So how did you find out?’
‘Mrs Adams told me one day when I ended up in sick bay because I was so exhausted. She apologised, saying that she never would have given the article to her if she’d known how she would react.’
‘So it all came to a head eventually?’
Grace nodded slowly.
‘Sorry to bring it all up again.’
‘That’s okay. It’s time somebody knew the whole story.’
* * * * *
With hindsight it was a stupid thing to do, but to a seventeen year old who was burning the candle at both ends and suffering massive stress, pep pills seemed like a great short-term solution. With academic exams just a week away and the constant pressure of practice, Grace was desperate for something to get her over this hump. Once she could do away with her other subjects she knew she would be able to make it to the September holidays. After two weeks at home to restore her equilibrium she knew she would be able to embrace the performance block that awaited them all.
The crazy thing was she only took them once. One episode of being wide awake for twenty-four hours and listening to the sound of her racing heart throughout her maths exam was more than enough for Grace. Tossing them aside, she soldiered on the old fashioned way and made it through exam week under her own steam.
Walking out of her history exam should have been a moment of jubilation for Grace, knowing that all her academic subjects were over and done with. Instead it was the most shameful experience of her life, being met by the principal who was holding the box of pills the cleaner had found in her room.
* * * * *
‘All right it was a silly thing to do,’ agreed Sylvia, ‘but it wasn’t like you were busted with cocaine or something.’
‘Yeah, well the way Ms Van der Linden was looking at me you would have thought I was cooking up crystal meth in my room.’
‘So what did she say?’
‘At that point nothing. She just told me to be in her office in an hour.’
‘Alright what did she say then?’
‘Well, I was certain she was going to tell me I was expelled, and I couldn’t face that. So I just took off.’
‘What? You just left everything behind and drove away?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘I’m assuming you didn’t go home then?’
‘No, definitely not. I stayed in Brisbane.’
‘But surely your parents could have helped?’
‘Looking back now yes I’m sure they could have. But in that moment I was so ashamed of failing everybody that I wasn’t thinking straight. Leaving seemed to be the only option.’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘Oh Grace.’
‘I found a cheap place to stay. It was horrible and the landlord was really creepy but as long as I paid my rent he left me alone. I felt terrible using the rest of my spending money that way and I had to sell my car but I didn’t have a lot of choice. At first I thought I could find a way to sort everything out. I even rang Mrs Adams a few times and she begged me to come in. I almost caved when she told me how worried my parents were but then she let it slip how furious everyone was that I mucked up all the performance arrangements. Then I knew I couldn’t go back.’
‘Grace you do realise you probably wouldn’t have been expelled over that? Sure pep pills are bad news but they’re not illegal. Besides, you were an integral part of the orchestra.’
‘Yeah I do know that now but back then I was certain she would kick me out. I was already so physically and emotionally exhausted I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to make any kind of decisions, let alone big ones like that.’
‘And of course one bad choice leads to another…’
‘Yep. And the longer it goes on the harder it is to see any kind of way out of the situation.’
‘I’m guessing things spiralled out of control after that?’
‘Yeah you could say that. I was kind of holding my own at first; I even got a job at Coles to help me stay afloat. But then the panic attacks started. They were so incredibly scary and I just didn’t know how to deal with them. I had a really severe one at work one day and collapsed. They called an ambulance and I ended up in hospital for five months.’
‘Didn’t the hospital contact your family?’
‘I wouldn’t let them. I just refused to give any contact details.’
‘And you haven’t thought of getting in touch since?’
‘I’ve written them a few letters to let them know I’m okay, but it’s been too long now. I’m just hoping everyone in town has forgiven them for being associated someone who wasted all their hard earned money.’
Sylvia was shaking her head now. ‘Grace! You can’t believe that. Honestly?’
‘Yeah I do. My part of the bargain was graduating from Strauss and then going on to university or the conservatorium. I folded under the pressure and I blew it. The people who supported me have every right to be ropable about that.’
Sylvia picked up her phone and touched the Safari icon then googled white pages. Clicking on the link she navigated to the search field and then started typing. ‘Okay surname McDonald, town Huntley Valley.’
Grace’s eyes widened. ‘What are you doing?’
‘Is your parents’ address 85 Hennessy Road?’
Even though Grace vehemently shook her head, Sylvia could tell by her reaction that the answer was yes. Double tapping the number to copy it she closed Safari and created a new contact. Holding the phone so Grace could see the call screen with the number entered she looked the young woman in the eyes firmly but kindly.
‘All
right Grace this ends right now. Either you call them or I will.’
Two Years Later
Grace
Grace sat at the piano trying her hardest to control her breathing. Her ragged gasps felt like she was in the middle of a severe asthma attack. But that was ridiculous, she wasn’t asthmatic, not even mildly so. Her whole family had been tested when her brother was diagnosed and the doctor had assured her she possessed a perfectly healthy set of lungs.
Trying to take her mind off what lay ahead Grace lifted the lid on the ageing upright Yamaha. Inhaling the distinctive scent of the instrument she loved, she skimmed her fingers across the ebony and ivory, willing them to calm her down. If only she could perform her presentation musically this afternoon. That she could do. Even with a captive audience in the stands and a spotlight upon her, performing was her happy place. Pachelbel’s Canon in D or a bit of Handel or Bach would be just perfect as an accompaniment she decided before coming back to reality.
Reaching up to the pile of notes she had placed on top of the piano she looked over them one more time. Checking her watch she let out a gasp and jumped up. It was almost three o’clock; she was supposed to be down there by now.
Dropping the piano lid back into place she smoothed her skirt and ran her fingers through her hair, fanning it to create a bit more volume then grabbed her phone out of her handbag. Clicking onto the camera function she flicked it to forward facing and examined her lipstick. Good, it was still intact, she hadn’t managed to bite it all off yet.
She had tried to get someone else to take her place but her pleas had gone unanswered. Everybody agreed she was the one who had to do it.
Arriving at the marquee a few minutes later Grace was shocked at the sea of people. Before she had slunk to the music room to gather her courage at least half the assembled chairs were empty. Now they were all occupied and there were people standing at the back.
What the hell?
Spying Sylvia at the edge of the stage she hurried over and pulled her aside. ‘A small gathering you said?’
Sylvia shrugged. ‘We thought it was. But apparently someone told the paper and then Channel 7 wanted to get on board. We couldn’t say no to that kind of publicity.’
‘There are TV cameras here?’ Grace shrieked.
‘Relax Grace, you can do this. Just think about it like reading a story, the very thing that brought you to Rosehill in the first place.’
Grace glared at her. ‘Oh yeah, it’s totally the same as that!’
Sylvia grabbed her hand and squeezed it tight. ‘Grace you’re fine. Remember who you’re doing this for.’
‘I’m not sure Edith would approve of emotional blackmail in her name.’
‘You know she would.’
They were interrupted by the emcee. ‘All right ladies, we need to get this show on the road.’
Grace shot a last imploring look at Sylvia. ‘I really have to do this, don’t I?’
Sylvia was already being led away to her position on the stage and could only give a thumbs up in response.
By the time it was her turn to speak Grace had managed to calm herself. Sylvia was right, she was essentially just reading a story and if she wanted the audience to truly appreciate the power of this particular story it was up to her to deliver it properly. Taking the three deep breaths her grandmother always insisted could diffuse any kind of stress, she gathered her notes and made her way to the podium.
‘Good afternoon everyone and thank you so much for coming along to this very special event. As you can imagine the planning and development of our new wing was a lengthy and complex process and I am very proud to have been involved right from the concept phase. As Sylvia mentioned my name is Grace McDonald and I have worked here at Rosehill Gardens for the past two years. How that came to be is quite a long story but I will attempt to give you the abridged version as the real story I want to tell is about a lady named Edith who is the inspiration behind this amazing new facility right behind us here.’
Edith
It was funny how your name could define you in different ways.
Unlike most of her friends who hated the names their parents had lovingly bestowed upon them, Edith always felt privileged to be named after her great-grandmother, the first female to graduate from high school in the town of Wellings Bridge and an all-round formidable woman by all accounts.
It was an old fashioned name, even back when she was at school, but Edith liked the fact that it made her stand out in a positive way. Teachers never forgot her name and it was nice to know that there was not another Edith in the whole school.
It was a different story once she arrived at Rosehill though. There she was one of three Ediths, although of course she did have the distinction of being the youngest. By a full forty-five years.
Edith had not known that young people could end up in nursing homes. She had never contemplated what happened to thirty-three-year-olds who needed full time care and didn’t have any family to look after them.
It seemed she wasn’t alone in that regard. Her paperwork had been corrected by a helpful clerk somewhere along the application process, changing her year of birth from 1982 to 1932, and for the first full month she lived at Rosehill, everybody stared at her. Once they were on top of the uniqueness of her situation they went above and beyond any reasonable expectation in an effort to help her settle in. But still, it was never a situation that she was going to be excited about.
The colourful walls and bedding that so boldly defined Edith at Rosehill were ironic really as she had always preferred neutral shades. But upon realising that Room 46 was to be her home possibly forever she had been overcome by an overwhelming desire to protest and luminous colours were the best she could come up with. The one exception had been Joe’s old chair. It had to stay exactly as he had left it although they certainly would have fixed the springs and re-covered it had she asked.
At least she had still been able to speak then. It was hard to fathom how different her time at Rosehill might have been if she had not been able to communicate verbally right from the start.
The speaking was the other great irony. Edith was by nature an introvert. Teaching had forced her to find her voice and use it, but that was more playing a role and something that could be switched on just for the classroom. Anybody who knew her before the accident would have described her as quiet and unassuming. So, it was only when her voice was the only thing she had that she started using more than she ever had before. Maybe it was because she subconsciously knew she had such a limited time left to communicate verbally.
Some days Edith woke up feeling as if she had lost forty years of her life, that she had skipped from relative youth to old age without any of the great memories or experiences that should accompany that transition. It wasn’t that she didn’t like and respect old people, she certainly did, and had actually made many senior citizen friends when she and Joe had been on their road trip. They had even joked about being honorary grey nomads. It had felt like being the butt of the cruellest joke when Edith had been told what her care options were after the first stroke.
Of course nobody was insensitive enough to ask her what she missed most about her old life but if they had she could have named dozens of things. Hands down her darling Joe was top of the list. The seven years they had spent together were just a glorious memory now, a sacred space she allowed herself to visit every morning and evening. She didn’t doubt he was with her still and knew it was he who had secured her place at Rosehill. But it was hard to understand why he couldn’t have stopped the second stroke that robbed her of her voice and really sealed her fate.
Almost as devastating was the loss of movement and, therefore, the ability to go where she wanted when she wanted. Nor could she cook her own meals, go to the cinema, drive a car, drink a real coffee, swim in the ocean, ride a bike … the list was literally endless. When she remembered how she used to complain about the rowdy boys in 8E or the horrible girls in her Year Nine class, she couldn�
��t believe how shallow those problems seemed now, how easy to solve.
It was Sylvia who had suggested the reading volunteers. The two women were much the same age and Edith was touched by how hard Sylvia tried to make her life at Rosehill as fulfilling as possible. The first few months she spent there they had shared many late afternoon chats, discovering they had a lot in common. Both were the only child of a single parent, although Sylvia knew her father but Edith didn’t. Uncannily both had lost their mothers to breast cancer when they were in their late twenties. Learning how much Edith loved reading and storytelling Sylvia immediately put her on the roster, promising she would send the most interesting volunteers her way.
It had been a bit of a motley crew that had done their stint in Room 46 and once she had written the stories Edith no longer thought of them by their real names, only the fictional ones she had bestowed on them. They had all seemed happy with their alter egos as none had asked her to change them.
Sarah was on the tail end of her community service when she arrived at Rosehill whereas Jake was just starting his. Edith found it amusing that he had signed up for community service voluntarily but certainly respected the moral compass that was directing him to repent for his previous unsavoury deeds. Bev and Audrey had come via a community organisation encouraging people at a loose end on the weekend to volunteer somewhere and Margaret did it in memory of her mother who had spent her last few years at Rosehill Gardens. Josephine was there for more practical reasons. She had a financial stake in the facility and wanted an anonymous way to check the running of the place without giving the staff an opportunity to be on their best behaviour.
Room 46 & Short Story Collection Page 15