by Liz Byrski
‘You and Pam are doing a terrific job,’ Judy says a few minutes later when Melissa returns to the counter. ‘Look, I hope you won’t mind my asking, and you must say no if it’s not possible, but I was wondering whether you and Pam might be able to stay on a bit longer . . . another couple of weeks perhaps?’
‘Really? That’s brilliant, we’d love to. More if you like. We’ll stay as long as you want, Judy. We love it. The customers miss you, of course, but business is really good.’
‘You don’t want to check with Pam?’
‘Don’t need to. We’ve already talked about it. Mum thought you might want to stay longer. She says you haven’t had a break for years, so take as long as you need.’
When they finish talking Judy closes her iPad and flops backwards onto the bed. She and Adele weren’t out for long – the recce in The Knittery, coffee and croissants, then home – but it’s taken all her energy. As Ros had pointed out, she is not just recovering from pneumonia but from years of driving herself too hard, neglecting her health and denying herself the opportunities of a more balanced life.
On Monday she had stared at her knitting, put it in her bag and dumped the bag on the floor by the fireplace, and when she went to bed that night it was still there. It is still there now. The last thing she wants to do is to knit anything, ever again.
Judy pulls the duvet over her and wriggles into a more comfortable position, thinking about Donna and Ted. She hasn’t called Donna since she left home and now she doesn’t want to. Why do I have to be the one who always phones, who holds things together between the three of us? I make the calls, I make the effort to go there. When did Donna last come to Perth – nine . . . ten months ago? Actually it’s almost a year, she realises, and Ted never comes, and neither of them ever comes to Mandurah these days. So what will happen if I don’t call? Will they even notice? Do they keep it going just for me? Do they tolerate me because they know I have no one else? Years ago, several months after Ted had got together with Donna, Judy had asked him what he wanted to do about a divorce.
‘Oh, no worries,’ he’d said in his usual laconic way. ‘We haven’t talked of getting married. I guess we’ll sort it all out eventually, but I’m harvesting right now.’ It was a typical Ted conversation. Judy could almost see him shrugging his shoulders, hands in his pockets, or sitting on the bench on the verandah rolling a cigarette before heading off to the tractor shed. But of course they never had sorted things out. Why not? she wonders now. Is she the elephant in the room? Ros would probably say that they are a co-dependent triangle. Perhaps, in the past, it provided her with some reassurance, the feeling that someone was there for her. But now she feels the stirrings of resentment. They are fine, the two of them, down there in the Wheatbelt, snug as bugs in a rug. They’re fond of her, but their world is complete without her. So what about me? she thinks. What about my world? She remembers that Simone said something recently about how fascinating it is to discover the inner lives of characters in books, because no one can ever know the inner life of another person, however close you are to them. ‘Where is my inner life?’ Judy murmurs angrily. ‘Does it even exist? No one would put me in a book.’
*
At the sound of the doorbell Simone, who is sitting reading in the lounge, glances up from Unless, wondering if anyone else will answer it.
‘I’ll go,’ Ros calls from the kitchen, and Simone hears her heading for the door, with Clooney behind her. She returns to the book, wondering why she has never come across it before. It’s written in first person and the voice is distinctively female – a woman who is thoughtful, well organised, professional. She’s a writer and translator, and Simone is fascinated by this woman who is acutely perceptive and intelligent but who has for a long time been blind to the reality of a bigger picture, and what that means in her own life. Of course, Simone tells herself, that’s the case with a lot of us, I suppose.
‘Come on in,’ Ros says to whoever it is. ‘Don’t jump, Clooney, get down. She’s in here, I think. Simone, your friend Geoff is here.’
Jolted out of her thoughts Simone starts up and drops her book.
‘I hope you don’t mind me barging in like this,’ Geoff says, hesitating.
‘Of course not.’
‘See, I told you she wouldn’t mind,’ Ros says. ‘I’m making coffee, will you join us?’
He looks at Simone as if asking for permission.
‘Yes, do,’ she says, ‘that would be nice.’
‘Excellent! Won’t be long,’ Ros says, and heads back to the kitchen.
Clooney is watching Geoff with interest.
‘Hello,’ Geoff says, reaching out a hand. ‘You’re a handsome sort of chap.’ He bends down to stroke Clooney, and retrieves Simone’s book at the same time. ‘Good read?’
‘Yes, it’s our choice for book club this week.’ She drops back into her chair and Geoff settles on the sofa.
‘Simone, I know you said you wanted time to think things through, but that was Friday evening, and now it’s Wednesday and I was concerned that I haven’t heard from you. Are you okay?’
Simone is about to say that she’s fine but then stops herself. ‘Not really, I’m still pretty shaken by all this. I can’t get Paula out of my head and . . . I was going to call you today anyway.’
Geoff nods. ‘It must be very difficult, I’m so glad you’re with friends.’ He hesitates, looks around the room. ‘It feels different in here,’ he says, ‘more homely. It’s all slightly formal as a rule, unbelievably tidy, a bit display home-ish.’
Simone laughs. ‘Yes, we thought it was all a bit too perfect so we packed away some of the things that looked expensive and breakable. Gwenda says she’ll put them back in the right places when we leave. Do you know Gwenda?’
‘Of course, Gwenda and Ray look after my place too when I go away.’ He leans towards her, puts his hand on her arm. ‘This must have been such a shock, Simone.’
She nods and takes his hand. ‘It was, still is. Friday night, when I got back here, I couldn’t stop crying. And then I felt so sad about all that I’ve missed with you guys, and of course with Paula. Do you really think she and Claire will be okay about meeting me? I keep thinking that perhaps Claire won’t want to, or maybe it will upset Paula.’
‘Honestly, it’ll be fine, Simone,’ Geoff says. ‘I’m confident they’ll both be thrilled. But look, let’s talk it through with Doug and then we’ll tell them after that. We both feel that it will be better to tell them on Skype rather than on the phone, after we three have talked. It will be a big thing for both of them but I’m sure it will be wonderful for them too. One reason I called in was to let you know that Doug is organising his visit. It’s a bit awkward because he and Steve run the restaurant together and Steve is away in New Zealand for his niece’s wedding right now, but Doug is confident he can be here early next week. Meanwhile he sends his love. So I’ll ring you as soon as I know when he’s arriving. We’ll have dinner at my place and we can talk things through then.’
‘I’d love that,’ Simone says. ‘It’ll be great to see Doug and catch up on everything. Unless you want to have a chat now.’
He fidgets awkwardly. ‘I’d love to stay for coffee, but as far as filling in the details . . . it’s long and messy and complicated and best to do it together with Doug, I think.’
She shrugs. ‘Okay. Claire was always wonderful to me, I would so love to see her again.’
‘She’s doing well for her age, a bit frail physically, but she’s sharp as a tack otherwise. Forgetful of course, but that’s understandable. She always thought the world of you. So, you’re okay with dinner when Doug gets here? One of us will pop over and pick you up and run you back again.’
‘Of course.’
‘Coffee’s ready,’ Ros says, walking in with a plate of Anzac biscuits and putting them on the coffee table. ‘Adele’s right behind me with the t
ray. Help yourselves to these, they’re still warm.’
‘I’ll help,’ Geoff says, getting to his feet as Adele comes in with the coffee tray. ‘Those Anzacs smell amazing, they’re –’
A door slams, stopping him in mid-sentence. The four of them look up as Judy charges into the room and, apparently unaware of them, goes straight to her knitting bag which is lying between an armchair and the hearth, picks it up, opens the door of the wood stove and slings the lot inside.
‘Fuck you!’ she shouts, staring as the flames lick around the wool. ‘Fuck you, fuck you, knitting, fuck the shop, fuck Ted and Donna. Fuck everything.’
They stare at her in silent amazement, and then Ros walks slowly over to her.
‘Coffee time, Judy,’ she says, taking her arm. ‘This is Simone’s friend Geoff. Come and have an Anzac biscuit.’
Chapter Fourteen
For many years Adele has been delivering high-level presentations and all the evidence indicates that she is very good at it. Whether for the board of a travel company, a bank, a hotel chain or airline, or the senior executive team of a university, she knows that success lies in thoughtful, disciplined preparation. Unturned stones do not exist for Adele – she will turn every one of them, and has always had enough nervous energy to keep her on her toes. It was she who had developed the concept for International Educational Tours Bureau, having been approached by a man with whom she’d once had a brief affair. Some years after their liaison ended he’d been promoted to a senior executive position in his university and he remembered conversations with Adele in which they had imagined an operation that combined learning, research and international travel. He contracted her to develop their discussions into a plan he could take to his executive.
Three years later Adele, then aged fifty, was appointed as director of the entity she had visualised and established. It had come at a time in her life when she was bored stiff by her job in a major bank and was thinking about dropping out of any sort of corporate life, selling her house, and moving from Adelaide to Byron Bay, or Noosa, or somewhere easygoing and relaxed, where she could simply hang out. Jenna was in Canada, and Adele imagined a totally different life. It amazes her now that she ever believed she could make that sort of change. She would never have survived the imagined opprobrium that would be heaped upon her by her father and, she realises now, she would have stuck out like a sore thumb in Byron Bay.
Bernard Grainger was a man who could not be satisfied. He had wanted a son and been landed with a daughter, which he blamed on his wife, Sheila, who had died so soon after Adele’s birth. He hired a housekeeper–nanny to look after Adele, cook the meals and do the laundry and housework. And he made up his mind that his daughter would be brought up to be a credit to him in the same model he had imagined for his son. Hardworking, confident, corporate minded, astute, a high achiever. Being that person, having that identity drilled into her, had shaped Adele’s teenage years and adulthood. She was locked into her father’s plan, and fear of the shame of failure has haunted her all her adult life. Now, twelve years since her father’s death and a few weeks into her retirement from corporate life, she senses that the shell she created, and into which she forced herself to please him, is starting to fragment, and that is both liberating and terrifying. Freedom beckons, but unfortunately Adele has no idea what to do with it.
When Judy had given her access to the computer Adele knew it was a big step for her, and she appreciated the trust involved. The situation was, as she’d expected, messy but not very complex. Whoever had set up the computer system had done a great job. And she or he had also installed various management tools, very few of which Judy had put to use.
And so this morning, as she checks again through the list of things she wants to talk to Judy about, Adele is surprised to find herself feeling strangely nervous. Judy has put her future in Adele’s hands and is not in the best state to question the possibilities, engage in serious discussions, or make life-changing decisions. Adele thinks it’s quite likely – in fact it’s almost certain – that Judy will want brief information, a couple of options and to make a decision immediately. The responsibility of advising someone in her seventies, who is unwell and trying to hide her desperation under a cheerful facade, seems much more intimidating than fronting up to a board of men in suits and women in pearls. Yesterday’s burning of the knitting bag had not been reassuring. Judy is still unwell, and Adele knows she must find a way to delay the decision-making.
*
Judy is sitting on the sofa, reading the final chapters of Unless. It has ‘taken her out of herself’ as her mother would have said, and out of herself is definitely where she wants to be. Reading this has reminded her that there is such a thing as a slow pace in life, and of the pleasure of savouring words and sentences and thinking about what they mean, instead of charging rapidly through to the end.
‘I’m ready when you are, Judy,’ Adele calls. ‘Shall we set ourselves up on the big table and go through it together?’
Judy puts down her book and joins her at the table. ‘This is exciting,’ she says. ‘I’m so grateful, Adele.’
‘I’m glad to be able to help,’ Adele begins, ‘and it’s good that Ros and Simone are out – no one to distract us.’
‘I don’t think we’ll need much time,’ Judy says. ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to make a decision very quickly.’
‘Yes, but that might not necessarily be a good idea. You need to take time to think through all the options.’
‘I know what I want, Adele.’
‘Of course you do, but there are different ways of getting that. You shouldn’t be rushing into anything at present.’
‘Don’t patronise me, Adele,’ Judy says, feeling herself bristling. ‘I know I’m still not well but that’s my body. My capacity to think things through and make rational decisions is unimpaired. I am not some temperamental, irrational old woman who needs humouring.’
There is a long pause and Judy can almost feel Adele thinking hard about how to respond.
‘There are a couple of things about that,’ Adele says. ‘The first is that if Simone were here I think she would remind us that mind and body are inextricably linked, and a struggling body translates into a struggling mind – only she’d probably put it better than that.’
‘Well that may be true for some,’ Judy says, hoping she has mustered a truly icy tone, ‘but my mind is not struggling with anything. And your second point is?’
‘In view of what you’ve just said then I suppose you consider yesterday’s shouting, swearing and burning of the knitting, followed by floods of tears when you realised it was irretrievable and you’d even burned your only copy of the first draft of the pattern, was an example of a calm and untroubled mind?’
Judy feels as though she is a balloon into which Adele has just stuck a huge hatpin. She buries her face in her hands. ‘Oh don’t remind me, I feel terrible about that, and with that nice Doug sitting there too.’
‘It was Geoff who was there, Doug lives in Melbourne.’
‘Whatever – they both look the same in the photograph.’
‘That’s because they’re twins.’
‘Do you think Simone will ever forgive me?’
‘She already has, not that there’s much to forgive. It was, as we said at the time, rather entertaining.’
‘I must have looked ridiculous.’
‘No,’ Adele says, ‘you didn’t look ridiculous, Judy, you looked upset, unwell and at the end of your tether, which is just what you are. And that’s not a state in which you should make life-changing decisions. There’s plenty of time.’
Judy nods. ‘Yes,’ she says, ‘there is, especially if we all stay on a bit longer. Have you asked the others?’
‘Not yet. I wanted to wait until they got back from the hospital.’
Judy feels the relief of no longer being the subject of discussion.
‘Of course, that makes sense. Do you know what’s wrong?’
‘No, but my guess is Parkinson’s. Ros might tell us more when she gets back.’
‘Oh I do hope it’s not that – poor Ros, it’s such a horrible disease and she lives on her own too. And that’ll be goodbye to the cello, I suppose. That’s awfully sad. Sorry, Adele. You’re right, of course. I will listen carefully, and take time to think about the whole thing, so let’s do it.’
‘Good,’ Adele says, and she turns the laptop screen towards Judy. ‘So, first of all I’ve tided up, transferred documents to the correct files and relabelled some of them. It’s a very simple system, so it should be really easy for you or anyone else to use. It would be good if you, and Melissa and Pam, can try and keep filing daily from day one. I know that sounds tedious but it will save you quite a lot of heartache later. It’s an excellent system that’s in there, all you need to do now is use it effectively, and I can show you how to do that. And if you do decide you want to sell . . .’
‘Yes, I have decided that already.’
Adele sighs, raises her eyebrows and continues. ‘If you do decide that, you will have all the information that a potential buyer would need, very easily accessible. See, here in this file called Business Overview . . .’
Judy’s phone rings and she gives it a sideways glance. ‘Oh, it’s Melissa. It’s the first time she’s actually called me, usually it’s the other way round, so I think it must be important.’
Adele leans back in her chair. ‘Of course,’ she says, ‘go ahead.’
Judy picks up the phone.
‘Hi, Judy,’ Melissa says. ‘How are you?’
‘Good, thanks. And you?’
‘Yes, yes, fine thanks, but there’s something I have to tell you.’
Judy thinks Melissa sounds awkward, reluctant.
‘Oh look, if you feel you can’t stay on . . .’