by Liz Byrski
There are murmurs of agreement around the table as Adele gets to her feet and fetches another bottle of wine. She can feel herself starting to loosen up and relax – it’s a very unfamiliar feeling. ‘We should stock up on wine tomorrow,’ she says, ‘and make a shopping list.’
‘Aha!’ Ros says. ‘The director of the bureau speaks.’
Adele hesitates, feeling a flood of heat through her body. Her muscles are tensing again and her face is burning. They’ve only been here a few hours and she’s already offended Ros. ‘Oh goodness, I’m so sorry for being bossy, I . . .’
Ros holds up a hand. ‘Stop, Adele! I’m teasing you. You’re quite right, and it’s good to have someone thinking ahead, taking charge. We should definitely replace this wine and stock up on some of our own.’
‘Oh good . . . I thought I’d . . . well, never mind, just me being silly. But on the subject of organising, I did wonder whether it might be good to draw up a roster for the cooking and housework and so on. I’d be happy to do that, and I . . .’
Ros wails and sinks her head in her hands. ‘Not a roster, oh no, please god, not a roster!’
Adele feels the breath fly from her body again. ‘Oh . . . well no . . . of course not . . .’
Ros looks up, smiling at her. ‘Just kidding, Adele, just kidding. I’m all in favour of a roster, as long as I don’t have to be the one to draw it up.’
*
‘I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier, Ros,’ Judy says, as Adele tops up their glasses. ‘About how this is a most unlikely thing for you to do – have a holiday with people you barely know – because really it’s much the same for me. I came because I felt it was right for me now, at this time. But unlike you, I’ve been blindly turning my back on the fact that I’m getting old and struggling on, trying to do more and more and getting totally worn out. I don’t know how to change. I don’t even know what sort of change I want.’
‘So you’ve done the right thing, Judy,’ Simone says. ‘You’ve made space for yourself to think, and consider the future. From what you told me earlier, if you hadn’t made this space I think you would soon have fallen right off your perch and crashed.’
‘You’re probably right, but I feel so odd, I’ve never done anything like this before, and just now, in my room, I . . . well I had a panic attack.’ She stops, takes a deep breath, her heart pounding so fiercely she feels they must be able to hear it. ‘Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I haven’t unpacked my case, because I’ve decided to go home on Saturday.’ Everyone stops eating and she sees their faces drop.
‘Oh no, Judy,’ Ros says. ‘Please don’t do that.’
‘I should never have come, there’s the business and everything, and I am . . . I’m not good at doing social things like this. I really can’t cope, and actually I’m exhausted. I was feeling I couldn’t cope while I was at home but it’s worse now I’m here.’ She stops, hearing the tremor in her own voice. ‘Sometimes I wonder about my own sanity.’
There is silence around the table.
Simone reaches out and puts her hand on top of Judy’s. ‘I don’t want to discount your feelings because they’re obviously profoundly real and distressing. But please don’t go. I think this sort of intimacy with strangers is bound to be discomforting until we adjust to it. We have to take it one day at a time.’
Judy grips her hand. ‘I . . . I don’t know.’
‘Could you just give yourself a few days’ rest?’ Ros suggests. ‘I think you need that. You’ve had a very long day. You said you left at five this morning to get to the airport, then the flight and the drive here. It’s a lot, Judy, at our age especially. I’m exhausted and I only had to come from Sydney. Stay the weekend, rest and relax, we’ll have some nice meals, some laughs, you can get lots of sleep and we can venture out somewhere if it ever stops raining. See how you feel on Sunday evening.’
‘Ros is right, Judy,’ Adele says. ‘If you rush off on Saturday you’ll be totally stuffed by the time you get home – you might get really sick. And you’d miss out on Tirra Lirra by the River, you said you were looking forward to that.’
Judy nods slowly. She’s moved by their concern and their kindness. It’s years, decades, since anyone – with the possible exception of Donna – has shown this sort of affectionate concern for her, and her eyes fill with tears. She brushes them away, clears her throat. They’re right – it would be stupid to make the journey back while she feels so wiped out. ‘That sounds sensible,’ she says cautiously. ‘I’m probably not thinking straight. It would be silly to travel feeling like this. So thank you, yes, I’ll stay the weekend. It would be so nice to talk about Tirra Lirra by the River with you. Tomorrow I’ll have a look online for flights. Meanwhile I’ll have a good rest and make the most of your company.’
She hopes she sounds rational and in control now, and she does indeed feel a little better. It’s a decision, and they all seem okay with it. She’ll have a nice little break and can leave on Monday with her friendships intact.
*
Later that evening as she climbs into bed, Ros gazes at the sprigs of bougainvillea that decorate the pale lavender wall in her room. She had drawn the purple room, which, she felt, could have been designed especially for her. Turning off the light she lies there in the darkness, thinking about the conversation over dinner, and how they all grew more relaxed as the evening progressed. Something important happened this evening, she thinks. Already we feel more like friends than acquaintances.
She sighs, thinking of James, of how lucky they were to find each other all those years ago. It’s certainly not that I think a woman needs a man, she tells him now. You know I don’t think like that, it’s just that what we had was so special. Anyway, I like these women. I was worried I might not like Adele, that her desire to please might drive me bonkers, and it still might, but she’s interesting. Lord knows how things will work out, whether we’ll get on each other’s nerves. You know how rapidly I can end up wanting to punch someone in the face! We’ll just have to wait and see.
From his bed on the floor Clooney lets out a series of small yelps, his legs twitching as though chasing something in his dreams. ‘Shh,’ Ros whispers softly, ‘shh.’ She leans down over the side of the bed and puts her hand on him. He lets out a great sigh and is perfectly still again. Ros plumps up her pillows, lies down and closes her eyes. Not a bad start, she thinks. Not a bad start at all.
*
On the other side of the house, Adele sits in front of the dressing table mirror brushing her hair and wondering how long it will take to grow out the colour, how much grey there will be, and what it might do to the colour of her skin. Ros – or was it Simone? – said it looked softer with the grey. Did they think that was flattering? Is softer good? Is going grey taking control of her life or just submitting to being old? She wonders if she’ll need different make-up, different-coloured clothes. Someone had told her that there was an app that you could use to take a selfie and then try out different hairstyles and colours on the photo to see how they would look. She thinks she might try to find it tomorrow, but sadly she knows she will not look at all like Simone, whose hair is perfectly cut and parted fashionably on one side so that it sweeps dramatically across the side of her face and ear. She thinks of Ros, also seemingly at ease with her iron-grey hair; Ros, whom Adele thinks is possibly struggling with mobility, who thinks her seventies is a good time of life despite the obvious disadvantages. Ros has obviously worked out how she wants to look, and probably doesn’t think much about clothes, but appears strikingly interesting and eccentric with her messy hair falling out of whatever holds it up, and in her long, shapeless dress with a big scarf around her shoulders.
Adele thinks of her own wardrobe at home, packed with neat business suits and shirts in a narrow range of muted colours, all essentially the same: the straight black pants and skirts and the shoes with heels that she is still
trying to wear, despite the discomfort. For the last few years she has feared that she may look as though she has been upholstered in those suits. I want something different, she tells herself, something to help me feel and be different.
Packing her bag had been difficult. She has so few things that are suitable for a holiday in the Blue Mountains. A pair of designer jeans, a couple of warm black jumpers, and a short black coat which, while very warm, looks rather too formal – too city-ish. I need an anorak, she thinks, and more jumpers. Shopping, tomorrow. She might have to sneak out on her own into Leura. Ros has said that she is welcome to use the car, as are the others, whenever they want. The difficulty might be in going alone. It’s quite likely that others might want to come with her. Lots of women go shopping together, but Adele never has, and the prospect of starting it now is challenging. As a teenager she went shopping with the housekeeper who looked after her father and herself, and she suspects that Mrs Richards’ severe and matronly tastes are still to some extent influencing her own wardrobe. The jeans are the only thing that would have shocked Mrs Richards, and this realisation makes Adele think that she might just buy a second pair, and maybe something else more colourful.
Adele gets up from the dressing table and stretches, thinking now about Judy. She’d felt really concerned about her this evening but at the same time Judy had helped her to feel more confident. Adele thought it was brave of Judy to admit she wanted to leave – she’d felt like that herself when she’d arrived at Ros’s place and then again when they got here. But Judy’s anxiety is something else.
She climbs into bed, looking around her room, the one she had drawn on the two previous occasions when she’d stayed here; turquoise, one of her favourite colours, but one that she has never worn. Perhaps that’s what I’ll buy first, she thinks, something turquoise and totally unlike anything I would have bought in the past. As she draws the doona up to her chin, Adele has a rare and wonderful moment of feeling she is in exactly the right place at the right time, and with the right people.
When the taxi had drawn up outside Ros’s house that afternoon, she’d been close to shaking with anxiety. All it would have taken to send her into a complete spin would have been for Ros to make one of her familiar caustic comments, or even to seem a bit frosty. But Ros had greeted her warmly, like an old friend, had actually ignored Adele’s extended hand and hugged her, urged her inside.
‘Sit down, make yourself comfortable. You must be tired – flying is exhausting, isn’t it, and airports are just the pits. Would you like tea or coffee or something stronger?’
She was introduced to Clooney, and while Ros made tea he had joined her on the sofa and put his head in her lap. His warm shape beside her was comforting. Perhaps I need a dog, Adele thought – company, warmth, unconditional love – and she relaxed, stroking his head.
‘He’s taken to you very quickly,’ Ros said, putting the tea down beside her. ‘He can be quite picky when it comes to whom he’ll join on the sofa.’
‘I’m so glad he’s coming with us,’ Adele said. ‘He’s gorgeous, and he’ll have some wonderful walks up there. Will we need to restrain him from chasing the wildlife?’
Ros shook her head. ‘No. He would have done years ago, he was a terror for it and it drove me crazy. But since he’s got older he can’t be bothered.’
By the time Adele had helped Ros get her luggage and Clooney into the car she was feeling very different. In some ways she had been glad that she and Ros would travel there together. It was, she thought, probably easier to arrive at the house with someone rather than alone. But then, in the infuriating way she had of always expecting the worst, she’d worried about being alone with Ros in the car. How awkward it might be. What would they talk about? It was quite a long drive, and she wanted to make a good impression. The last thing she wanted was to annoy Ros before they even got there. The previous night she had dreamed they were driving up winding roads and she swerved and Ros shouted at her, told her she was a hopeless driver and shouldn’t be behind the wheel. She’d woken up sweating and had to get up and make a warm drink to calm herself down. So by the time she’d arrived at Ros’s house she was at her most tense, making fists all the time, and she was sure Ros had noticed, although she didn’t say anything. She’d noticed that one of Ros’s hands seemed a bit shaky – surely Ros of all people couldn’t be nervous. On the drive they’d talked about books, and music, and Ros had told her about the quartet she played with, and about playing with the Symphony Orchestra, and it had all been fine. So here they are, and here she is in her favourite room and Adele feels herself unwinding, her muscles softening, relaxing, her eyelids heavy, and she knows that as per usual she has worn herself out with pointless anxiety.
What would it be like to feel relaxed like this all, or at least most, of the time? Who would she be if she wasn’t always struggling with what other people might think about her? Yawning, she turns on her side and stares at the narrow sliver of night sky between the gap in the curtains and wonders what the others might be thinking as they lie waiting for sleep.
*
In the yellow room Simone sits in darkness, the curtains drawn back, gazing at the starlit sky. It’s been an interesting day in all sorts of ways, she thinks: her conversation with Judy in the car, the glorious but unfamiliar landscape of the mountains, the sense of moving out and away from her normal life and stepping into something new. But most interesting of all are her companions. From the day Adele’s invitation arrived she has been imagining this; considering the extent that it’s possible to know people solely through an online medium like Skype. Did we all prepare for those meetings? she wonders. Did we all check our hair and what we were wearing? Did we all manipulate the height and distance of the computer camera, the background that reveals something of our homes and therefore of ourselves? Simone has done some of this herself, stage-managing, in small ways, both what could and couldn’t be seen.
The scar on the left side of her face and the disfigured ear alongside it are always her first thought, even though they are largely concealed by her hair, which is parted on the opposite side so that the heavier hair masks it. She doesn’t think she’s particularly neurotic about it. People do see it every day – they catch a glimpse as she turns her head, or the wind lifts her hair. Simone thinks she manages it quite well, and if she’s asked about it she tells the truth. ‘It’s a burn,’ she says, always careful to sound casual and uninterested. ‘From a long time ago, in my twenties. I was lucky, it could have been a lot worse.’ It works, people rarely ask any more after that. She thinks the others will not have noticed it before now but may have caught sight of it sometime today. Accustomed to managing this, as well as having a strong sense of what she wants others to see when they look at her, Simone is also rigorous in maintaining what she thinks of as a ‘classy casual’ look and chooses her clothes accordingly.
People, of course, are not always what they seem, especially on a computer screen. It’s not necessarily how they look but who they are that can be misleading; a brief period of internet dating had shown her that. She’d thought about this during the drive here with Judy, who had always appeared to be a confident and energetic businesswoman but had today revealed herself as a woman in crisis, poised precariously on the edge of a cliff.
And then there’s Ros, who for so long had seemed to be brusque and sometimes lacking in both empathy and tact. As she sits here now in the darkness Simone realises she has very little evidence for that opinion. Over time there have been a few examples of what Ros herself calls her ‘foot-in-mouth moments’ and she’s certainly very straightforward, and Simone likes that. But she can also be too blunt, too harsh, and maybe a bit prickly. Yet from the moment she met Ros today Simone sensed vulnerability. She wonders whether this is new or something she simply hasn’t noticed before. Is this what Ros does to protect herself and, if so, from what?
Simone is pretty good at reading people but she is stil
l confused by Adele – conservative in style and dress, obviously intelligent and well read – who has for years held down a very senior position, but who has always seemed to be so uptight, lacking in confidence and anxious to please. Today she had seemed a little more confident. These anomalies are fascinating to Simone, and she wonders whether the others are watching her with this same forensic interest. Ros, she thinks, is the only one likely to be doing that and, if so, Simone would love to know what Ros sees in her.
She has taken to Ros in a big way, although she’s pretty sure Ros is a yoga sceptic. Not that this bothers Simone; she meets them all the time. People must be free to do and think what they want, but Simone feels Ros might benefit from what yoga has to offer. And she’s certain she’d take well to meditation. It’s not that she sets out to convert people, but she is never backward in suggesting some of the things she herself has learned. So will I take Ros on about this, in a light-hearted sort of way? she wonders, and she decides she will. Adele is already interested, and if she can get Ros on side, that might encourage Judy, if she’s here long enough. Simone still thinks Judy will succumb and stay on. She smiles at the thought of them all lined up on yoga mats in the big downstairs games room. That would be so good, she thinks. That would be the best energy ever.
Chapter Five
Clooney stands by the open door, hesitates, then steps cautiously outside, looking back hopefully to see if Ros is coming with him.