by Trish Morey
‘Gran,’ she whispered, swallowing down a catch in her throat as she kissed the old woman’s forehead. ‘It’s me, Pip.’
There was that sideways stretch of her lips again. The hint of a smile that Pip knew didn’t mean ‘I remember’, but was just a recognition that someone was there, talking to her. It was something. It was enough.
She sat down in the chair Molly had brought and gently placed a tiny claw of a hand into her own, stroking the old woman’s palm with her thumb. ‘I missed lunch, Gran, I’m sorry. I got held up.’
Molly rested a hand on her shoulder. ‘She’s not eating anything now, lovey,’ she shared quietly. ‘Not even the custard and sweets that she used to love even up until a few days ago. She doesn’t need it anymore, do you Violet?’
Tears pricked at her eyes as Pip stared hard at her gran – precious Gran who had once been as strong as an ox and milked the cows every day and tended a garden that stretched all around the farmhouse and beyond. Gran, who was all the family she had left in the world. She suddenly wondered why the hell she’d stayed away so long. And for what? It was all so difficult to remember.
‘I should have done more,’ she said.
Molly clucked her tongue as she opened a window to let in the fragrance of the rose garden on the warm breeze. ‘Don’t go going down that path, Priscilla Martin, or you’ll never find a way back. You’ve done more than some families do, and you’ve had far better reason to do nothing at all, given how far away you live.’ She gestured towards the floral arrangement on Violet’s desk. ‘You’ve sent new nighties and dressing gowns and bedsocks the moment we suggested she needed new ones, and you’ve sent flowers every single week your gran has been here. She’s loved them all, though she hasn’t a clue who sent them – even when we tell her every time. And the rest of the residents have loved them too, when the new bunch comes in and the old one goes out in the lounge for another week. Don’t you dare tell me you should have done more.’
Pip still sniffed.
‘You were dealt a rough hand,’ Molly continued, her voice softer as she put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Nobody but you left to care, and you played it the best way you could. Never feel bad about living your own life. Not when your gran’s was already gone for all intents and purposes.’ And with a final squeeze of her shoulder, she checked if she needed anything else to eat or drink, and left her in peace, closing the door after her to shut out the sounds of the trolleys clattering down the hallways.
Pip sat there a while, her sandwich and coffee forgotten while she held her gran’s frail hand in hers, and told her all about life in New York City, of the tall buildings and yellow cabs and wall-to-wall people, and how it was so different to be home, but good to be home too. She told her of her apartment in an old brownstone building near Central Park that she shared with her friend, Carmen, and then she started on her job before she ran out of things to say. So she picked up the book she’d spied on her gran’s bedside table, a familiar book that had graced her gran’s bedside table as far back as she could remember. Not Only in Stone had been her gran’s favourite.
And she opened the book at the bookmark and began to read Phyllis Somerville’s fictionalised but so true-to-life story of the Cornish families who had settled the Yorke Peninsula – as Violet’s own family had done – when it was copper, not wheat, that had made the region’s fortune. She read the pages she’d first read as a teenager because she’d been told she should. She read them now and this time their stories seemed more than words. Now, it seemed, she was reading what could have been her own family’s life. Their struggles. Their victories. Their losses.
She read as her gran lay still on the bed, her breathing intermittent, her blue eyes filmed with grey, and her mouth twitching every now and then as if she remembered, while the fragrant scent of roses carried on the breeze that stirred the curtains and perfumed the air . . .
She was in a plane and being pulled over by the police again, and this time he was prodding her, except he didn’t look like Adam, he looked like Luke. And that wasn’t right because it sounded like a woman . . .
‘Pip?’ Another shake. ‘Pip?’
Pip came groggily to through a thick fog of confusion to find two women, Molly and another she didn’t recognise, but who smiled down at her and clearly knew who she was.
‘You should go home, lovey. You’re dog tired.’
She blinked and put a hand to her spinning head. The book had fallen onto the coverlet and her neck ached from lolling at an angle. She looked at her gran, eyes shut and seemingly motionless, until her tiny bird shape fluttered and the covers shifted as she took one more breath. ‘Gran.’
‘She’s resting. Like you should be. Where are you staying?’
She rubbed her aching neck and glanced at her watch. Barely five o’clock. Too early to sleep just yet. ‘Out at Tracey and Craig’s place.’ There was no need to bother with surnames. Everyone knew Craig from the Ag store, and by extension, his wife Tracey.
Molly frowned. ‘Are you sure you’re okay to drive out there?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, and reached for her coffee. Bleh. It was stone cold.
I’ll bring you a hot drink,’ Molly said, ‘and you say your goodbyes for now and then go and get some rest,’ Molly commanded gently. ‘That’s an order.’
‘But Gran? What if . . .’
‘Nobody knows, lovey. Death has its own timetable, but your gran’s surprised us enough times already to suspect she’ll still be here waiting for you tomorrow. And if she’s not –’ she shrugged as she smiled sadly ‘– then she’ll be in a better place. Just make sure you tell her you love her before you go. That’s all you can do.’ She bustled towards the door. ‘Now I’ll get you that coffee. How do you like it?’
Pip told her and then said, ‘Oh, and Molly?’
The older woman paused.
‘Do you think Gran could have some music playing? You know, something to keep her company when she’s alone.’
Molly smiled. ‘I think that’s a very good idea. What does she like listening to? Classical music? A bit of Slim Dusty?’
‘Hymns,’ Pip said with a frown, suddenly thinking it odd – their family had never bothered much going to church. ‘She always loved listening to Songs of Praise.’
Molly smiled. ‘I’ve got just the thing. Don’t know why we didn’t think of it before.’
She was back in less than five minutes with a CD player, a selection of discs and a hot coffee for Pip. Pip set up the player, popped in a disc and sipped her coffee while she listened to the York Minster choir sing ‘Amazing Grace’. Then she said goodbye to her gran, and even though she was asleep she told her she loved her, and gently squeezed her claw-like hand and kissed her brow again, and managed to hold herself together while she exited the building.
But once in the car, it was a full five minutes before the tears slowed and she could see clearly enough to drive.
Chapter Six
The Maitland Road was long and straight, with only an occasional dip or crest, not that the crests provided any surprises when the view from the top was more of the same – a long straight belt of bitumen lined either side with strips of bush. And not that it was boring, for beyond the scrubby gums lay the inevitable fields of gold, some rippling in the summer breeze, waiting to be harvested, some already bearing the geometric lines and patterns of the harvester’s progress. She could see where they were working, the clouds of dust puffing up on the horizon signalling where the headers were busy bringing in the grain.
But like Molly has said, she was dog tired and as she pulled off the main road onto the dirt side road that led to the farm, Pip half wished she was staying in town, rather than having to drive the fifteen kilometres out and back. A room nearer the nursing home made a lot of sense right now.
Or maybe Tracey and Craig having a house somewhere nearer the nursing home mad
e more sense right now. Because it wasn’t like Craig actually farmed anymore. Within a season of taking over the family farm he’d decided he was far better at retail than farming. He’d employed a manager for the property and had gone and bought the Ag store.
But then she saw the farm come into view, the old stone house and metal sheds and the windmill standing guard over it all, and she thought, yeah, they’d have to be crazy to give this all up, and pulled into the long farm driveway. Tracey all but exploded from the house when she was only halfway along it, running out to the big vehicle and machinery turnaround area, the two farm dogs barking and spinning in circles around her, and Pip felt a pang of homesickness and knew she’d done the right thing by coming here.
She pulled the Audi to a stop next to where Tracey stood with her hands clasped together, her grin a mile wide, and then she was out of the car and they fell into each other’s arms, laughing and jumping and crying as the dogs continued to party around them.
‘Welcome home, girlfriend! It’s so good to see you!’
‘And you, Trace.’ She squeezed her friend tight and breathed in the smell of friendship that spanned the decades. ‘It’s been way too long.’
‘But hey,’ the other woman said, holding her at arm’s length, ‘just look at you! I love your hair straight like that. You look like you’ve just stepped out of a fashion shoot, especially with the flash car. You look fabulous.’
She was too happy to apologise for the car right now. She was too excited just seeing her friend again. Wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, Tracey didn’t look that much different from how she had as a teenager. ‘So do you.’
Tracey laughed. ‘Sure I do, with a mess of hair that hasn’t seen a hairdresser since Chloe was born and mashed banana smeared all over my shoulder.’
‘Hey, you look amazing. Nobody would believe you had a three-month-old baby,’ she said, and Tracey smiled and pulled her into her arms and hugged her tight again, before her eyes shadowed over and her smile slipped away.
‘So how’s your gran?’
Pip sucked in air and remembered the shock of seeing her, such a tiny bundle under the bedclothes, and felt herself frown at the memory. ‘Fading. You should see her, Trace. She’s so tiny and fragile. They say she’s not eating but somehow she still manages a smile. I don’t know what’s keeping her going.’
‘Maybe she’s been waiting for you.’
Pip’s hand went to her mouth, her eyes misting over. ‘You think?’
‘Oh god, listen to me,’ said Tracey, putting an arm around her shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, Pip, I don’t know. But it’s good you’re home to see her. It’s good to be able to say goodbye.’
‘Sure,’ she said, though it didn’t feel good right now. It felt like the last living piece of her family – her last link with the past – was being slowly but inexorably torn away, leaving her more alone than she’d ever been. Not even in the midst of New York City’s eight million souls had she ever felt so lonely. Every man was an island there. In New York City it was normal to be alone. Everyone seemed to have a life somewhere else. A home somewhere else. A family.
She swayed on her feet, the panicked rush of the last forty-eight hours, the stress of having to remember to drive on what felt like the wrong side of the road, the sight of her gran, shrivelled and hollow-cheeked, catching up with her. ‘Whoa.’
Tracey caught her by the elbow. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I think maybe I should just go to bed.’
‘No way. It’s too early for that. You’ll only wake up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at two in the morning. Come on inside,’ Tracey said. ‘I’ve got a lamb roast on with an apple pie to follow. Then and only then you can crash. I’ll get the boys to drop your bag over to the B&B.’
As if on cue, two boys emerged from the house, tall and lean and with legs that looked like they’d been stretched on a rack. ‘You are kidding me,’ said Pip, with a laugh, perking up. The last time she’d seen them, the youngest had been a toddler, the eldest not yet in school. ‘Tell me these aren’t your boys.’
Tracey grinned. ‘Sure are. They grow like weeds at this age. Ben, Callan, come say hello.’
They approached her warily, and Pip suspected that if not for the attractions of the Audi behind her, they’d be even more tentative. Ben at age twelve was already the height of his mother, his younger brother by three years a scant six inches behind him but more solid in build, his hair with the reddish tinge of his father. ‘G’day,’ Ben said with a shy smile, dragging his eyes from the car for a moment, all colt-like arms and legs, but with the makings of a future lady-killer in his square jaw and big blue eyes.
‘Hi,’ said the younger brother more boldly. ‘Is this your car?’
‘It’s a hire car, bozo,’ said his older brother, rolling his eyes.
‘All right,’ he said, not fazed in the least. ‘So tell me, how’s things in New York City?’
Pip laughed. ‘Cold when I left. Not hot like here.’
‘Any snow?’ Callan asked hopefully.
‘Not yet. Maybe for New Year’s.’
‘I’ve never seen snow,’ he admitted wistfully. ‘Never snows here.’
‘You should come visit me when it snows then. Not that it’s a heck of a lot of fun to get around when it does.’
‘Cool!’ He looked hopefully at his mum. ‘Can I?’
‘Sure,’ his mother said easily. ‘When you’re twenty-one.’
‘Aww!’
‘Take Pip’s bags to the B&B, you two, and then come wash your hands for dinner. Your dad will be home any minute.’ She took Pip’s arm in hers. ‘Come on inside and meet the newest addition to the family.’
Pip followed her friend past the enticing sizzle of roasting lamb coming from the Weber on the covered patio, into the cool interior of the old stone house and through to the big country kitchen, where the sprawling timber table and the smell of baking pie almost brought her undone. How long since she’d had an honest-to-goodness lamb roast followed by apple pie? How long since she’d sat in a big country kitchen like this one and shared a big family meal?
Eight years, that’s how long. The last time she’d been back, for Fiona’s wedding that time. The three friends had been born the same year, Tracey and Pip only three weeks apart, and had been inseparable all through playgroup to primary school, remaining close even through their high school years when Pip had boarded in Adelaide. Then they’d spent the school holidays together at the beach or helping out in Fi’s mother’s florist shop, or picnicking out on the stone mounds behind Pip’s family farm, dreaming about boys. Well, only one boy in Pip’s case – god, she’d been so naive. And then she’d been a bridesmaid for both Tracey and Fiona and they’d been bridesmaids for each other, telling her it was her turn next. And the last night, before she’d flown out, she’d stayed here with Tracey and Craig and their two young boys, not knowing it would be such a long time before she returned.
Eight years.
Zoom! Where the hell had that gone?
Being busy, she told herself, before she felt a stab of guilt about that too. Getting established in a new home. Making a name for herself and carving out a career in one of the most energetic cities in the world. Proving she was committed to that career by volunteering to stay on during holiday breaks when others took leave to visit family – loyalty to the job that was paying off for her now.
No, she had no reason to feel guilty. Even if she hadn’t kept up with everything that was happening back here.
‘Have you heard from Fi?’
‘Oh yeah, I meant to tell you,’ Tracey said over her shoulder as she skirted around the long timber table that took up the centre of the big country kitchen. ‘She wanted to come out tonight and say hello but she had to go into Wallaroo for some day procedure thing at hospital – fibroids or something – so
unded ghastly. But she’ll be back in the shop tomorrow and she said she’ll try and come out tomorrow night, if that suits you.’
‘That’d be great. I still have to meet these twins of hers.’
‘Oh, you are in for a treat, they are a real pair of ranga ratbags, that’s for sure. Fi’s so excited they’re finally at school. She says the last five years felt like fifty and she’s finally getting her life back.’
Twin boys and redheads into the deal. God, Pip couldn’t begin to imagine what that would be like. But then, given the work she did now and the long hours, she couldn’t imagine having a baby at all. ‘I might drop by the shop tomorrow after I see Gran and get some flowers for the cemetery. I’ll catch up with her then.’
Tracey stopped then, just before the door to the lounge room, and turned to her friend, her expression half smile, half frown. ‘Fi’ll get a kick out of that, for sure. But hey, are you okay to go out there by yourself? Do you want company?’
Pip shook her head. It had taken her years before she’d been able to deal with ordering a headstone, and the last time she’d been back, Tracey had gone to the cemetery with her. The big headstone she’d ordered had been put in place and the stark presence of the big granite slab with its bold lettering had made her loss seem more real. It had been good to have a friend there then, someone to hold her hand, a link to the living when so many of hers were gone. But that was almost a decade ago when she’d still felt battered and raw, and seeing the names and dates carved into the recently installed headstone had felt like someone pressing their finger into a bruise and asking if it hurt. ‘Thanks, but I’ll be fine. Just need to spend a little time with them by myself, before . . . well, before I need to go out there again for Gran, you know.’
Tracey put her hand to her arm and gave it a squeeze. ‘Sure, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.’
‘Thanks. Appreciate it.’
Baby noises came from the next room, happy gurgling sounds interspersed with the ring of bells, and Tracey smiled. ‘That’s my girl.’