We That Are Left

by Lisa Bigelow

  ‘Trevor, meet my niece, Mrs Mae Parker.’

  ‘Ah, Mrs Parker, the niece who runs the shop. Albert’s so happy having you just around the corner.’

  Albert shuffled in his chair. ‘Mae, darling, this is my very dear friend Mr Trevor Green. He’s visited every day this week; sits for hours at a time, just keeping me company.’

  ‘It’s very kind of you, Mr Green, giving up so much of your time to sit with my uncle.’

  ‘Albert, you seem a little brighter today,’ Trevor said, grasping his hand again.

  ‘I’ll be back at the club by the weekend, I’m certain of it.’

  ‘Well, you make sure you are. We all miss you terribly.’

  Two nights later, Albert died in his sleep.

  CHAPTER 34

  * * *

  December 1944

  MAE, ET AND WILLIAM stood beside the hole in the ground that would be Albert’s final resting place. But looking at the drab surroundings, Mae thought he was hardly likely to rest in peace; the place was neither restful nor peaceful. Surrounded by factories belching smoke, roads clogged with trucks and the smells of tar works and foundries, the cemetery was the sort of place you’d only choose to go to be with family. In Albert’s case, he was being laid beside his mother and sister in the family plot. His soul would be happy to be near them again. And Mae knew the cemetery hadn’t always been so bleak. Albert had brought her here several times when she was a child to visit her mother’s grave, and he’d told Mae that when he was a boy the setting was quite picturesque, situated near the river and ringed by market gardens. It only changed when the city grew and industries moved further out to cheaper land. He said it was always worthwhile buying as much cheap land on the fringes as you could afford because industry was always chasing cheaper running costs, especially during the worst of times, like the Depression and war.

  Mae held William’s arm, which was bent tight against his chest. They both swayed very slightly, as if caught in a gentle breeze, while the pastor from their church prayed and committed Albert’s body to the ground. Although they’d stipulated the most expeditious service—after the last war, Albert struggled to worship a God who would allow such suffering—it seemed to go on for hours. Several prayers, a sermon and three hymns at the church, followed by the graveside visit and afternoon tea in the church hall.

  Much later that day, Mae realised she was at her family’s house, but she barely recalled arriving. Albert’s death had rattled her more than she’d fathomed. Over the years she’d occasionally thought about her family getting older. But knowing that she’d lose them one day had done nothing to prepare her for the actuality. Numb for the first few days, she threw herself into helping Et and William plan the funeral; placing notices in the paper, talking to the minister and the undertakers, making endless pots of tea for the well-wishers trailing through the family home from morning to night. It was a little like when people heard the news of Harry’s disappearance, but of course that was different; Albert’s death was final, permanent. There was no mystery about Albert’s loss. He was gone. Although she couldn’t begin to imagine her life without him and her sadness often saw her struggling for breath, she did manage to laugh at some of the stories his friends told about his time in the war, about his air warden service, about scrapes on the railways that he’d helped to sort out.

  Now that the work was done and the last of the visitors gone, she slumped into the chair beside the fireplace and felt the lump that had been lurking in her throat for the last few days begin to swell again. Tears arrived with gulping sobs. As she cried into her hanky she saw Albert turn and beam at her as he walked her down the aisle at her wedding. She pictured Albert sitting at the kitchen table feeding Katie her bottle, then lifting the baby and patiently patting her until she burped. She pictured him arguing with William over which horses were better in the wet or dry. Then she remembered him as she’d last seen him, rugged up in the sunshine looking older than his sixty-five years. Seeing him after he’d died, she was amazed to see how young he looked. His facial muscles had relaxed and there wasn’t a line to be seen; he just looked like he was sleeping. That was a good way to remember him, rather than remembering his last struggles for air.

  Hearing Et and William laughing in the kitchen, she told herself again that Albert would hate for anyone to be weeping over him. As Mae retreated to the bathroom to fix her face, another image of Albert flashed into her mind, setting off the tears again. This time she saw her uncle hunched behind Harry on his new motorbike, the pair of them roaring around the corner and past the house, broad smiles beneath their goggles and leather helmets. Dabbing her eyes with a wet face washer, she applied powder to her cheeks and chin. Then she began to cry again, thick, heavy sobs. It felt like every sadness from her life, even the ones that happened before she could remember, were flowing through her and she was powerless to stop them. The loss of her mother and Albert and, most of all, Harry’s disappearance. She missed him so much that her chest constantly ached, as though she’d strained herself lifting a heavy weight. Of all the people she knew, Albert was the only one who’d encouraged her to keep hoping. He never failed to pass on any snippets of speculation that might help to lift her spirits. He’d quietly held her hand as she recited and dissected every precious memory, never making her hope seem futile.

  Mae listened for further sounds of Et or William in the kitchen. Whenever she felt she was recovering, a fresh thought set her off again. With Albert gone, she began to imagine a time when Et and William would be gone as well. They would rely on her to see them through the end of their lives. And as long as they didn’t get too sick, she could probably keep them at home. But whatever happened, she needed to make the most of every minute she had left with them.

  Several weeks later, after delivering Katie to Elizabeth’s house for the weekend, Mae and Et caught the train to a guesthouse in the Dandenong Ranges, about an hour from town. Mae had discovered that some of her morning sickness treatments also helped to relieve motion sickness. Dry toast, Anzac biscuits and a flask of strong ginger tea kept her stomach manageable for the trip; the nausea was there, particularly as the train twisted and climbed the hills, but she managed not to disgrace herself.

  Et applauded as they arrived and stepped gratefully onto solid ground, another fraught step for a person with severe motion sickness, but drawing in lungsful of the damp, pine-scented air seemed to help as Mae surveyed the dense green-upon-green forest scenery. With her worries about the travel component of their trip behind them, Mae felt her spirits lift for the first time since Albert’s death. Sunlight peeked through the canopy of tree ferns surrounding the station platform, the wet leaves sparkling like jewels. A porter collected their bags and placed them into a waiting bus for the short drive to the guesthouse down a steep, muddy lane.

  ‘You’ll want to borrow some gumboots before you tackle the driveway, ladies,’ the driver called cheerfully as they descended towards a wide, double-storey building. Three men and a woman carrying fishing rods and baskets stood aside to let the bus pass.

  ‘The fishing here is second to none,’ the woman told them. ‘People come from all over to angle for trout. You can even catch your own dinner. Mrs Jackson will cook anything you catch, as long as it’s big enough. Best to throw the young ones back for another day.’

  Et looked at Mae and laughed. ‘I haven’t fished since I was a girl. Your mother and I used to do this every summer.’

  ‘Harry taught me on our honeymoon. I was never going to swim, but it was something I could do without wetting my hair.’

  ‘You never said!’

  ‘I caught a few; he said he was impressed.’

  ‘Well then, let’s have a try.’

  Mrs Jackson was happy to kit them out and an hour later the two women were at the stream running along the bottom of the garden, Mae standing knee deep in the water and Et sitting on the bank. Mae flicked her wrist and watched her blue-feathered lure float through the air then settle halfw
ay across the surface. Water swirled against her rubber waders and crept across nearby rocks. A couple of ducks squabbled on the opposite bank, most likely over a worm.

  Settling her footing and her stance against the water pressure, Mae felt herself inhale and exhale more deeply than she had in months. Her lungs felt greedy for every skerrick of sweet mountain air. For a moment, she imagined what it might be like to live where it was possible to breathe such purity every day, to fill her ears with the tinkle of bellbirds and the rush of crystal-clear water; to choose not to see people for days at a time. Could she be happy in a tiny hut beside the mountains, living on fresh fish and berries? She didn’t need much; just a verandah and a vegetable patch. She could fill her days gardening, reading and going for long walks. It was certainly something to think about for when Katie was grown and married, for when she was no longer needed by her family. A retirement option, perhaps.

  ‘Chicken and mayonnaise or ham and pickle?’ Et waved sandwiches wrapped in greaseproof paper.

  Normally the queasy feeling in Mae’s stomach lasted all day after a trip, but the thought of chicken and creamy mayonnaise made her salivate. The ham and pickle sounded good too. But there was no need to choose; she was on holiday and could have both.

  ‘It’s a bit soon for a picnic, I’ve only been in the water for ten minutes. But you start if you’re hungry.’

  Mae felt a gentle tug on her fishing line and slowly turned the handle on the reel. She imagined Harry standing behind her, whispering in her ear. Encourage the fish to swim towards you; don’t try to drag it kicking and screaming into the basket. She smiled at the thought of a fish trying to scream underwater. As the fish tugged the line harder, she kept it firm, reeling in the slack whenever the fish rested or changed direction. Her arms began to ache. She might have snagged a big one—hopefully a trout, not a carp. As the fish drew closer she backed towards the sandy beach near the bank. Et called out encouragement but she wasn’t wearing boots so Mae needed to land the fish without Et holding a net in the water beside her. She heard more instructions from Harry. When it’s close enough, flip it out of the water and onto the grass so Et can pitch it into the basket and close the lid.

  After a few more turns of the reel, the trout was close enough to see. It was huge; at least eighteen inches long. Mae hoped the line would hold. She couldn’t bear to lose it now.

  ‘Get ready, Et. This one’s full of fight.’

  ‘Be careful not to slip, dear. You’re close to the edge.’

  Mae dug her feet into pebbles and bent her knees. She anchored her elbows at her sides and quickly wound the handle. When the fish was just a few feet from her legs she tilted the rod straight up. As the fish shot out of the water she swivelled her torso, flicked the fish onto the ground in front of Et then lost her balance and sat back in the freezing shallows.

  Et howled with laughter but still managed to get the fish into the basket and close the lid. Mae reached out to grab the rod but, misjudging the distance, she fell sideways into the water. Gasping for air she sat up and threw the rod onto the bank then tried to stand, but her waders had filled with water. Flopping around like the fish in the basket, she managed to get onto her knees then undo her braces and slide out of the rubber pants. Her wet clothes weighed her down but she eventually hauled herself out of the water and sat shivering on the grass. Et was still laughing as she wrapped a rug around Mae’s shoulders and rubbed her back.

  ‘It’s not funny, I could have hurt myself,’ Mae protested, though she was laughing herself.

  ‘That was just about the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,’ said Et. ‘And when you went sideways…’

  ‘You got the fish?’

  Et opened the lid just far enough for Mae to see the trout twitching in the basket. ‘It must be three or four pounds at least,’ Et said. ‘We’ll have to get a picture before it’s cleaned and cooked.’

  ‘I might need to change before I pose for any pictures,’ Mae said, rubbing her wet hair with a corner of the rug and tipping her head sideways to clear her ear.

  After drying off, changing clothes and eating their sandwiches on the verandah, the two women walked along the river path from the guesthouse towards the town.

  ‘Such a shame William didn’t come with us. He would have loved it here,’ Et said, laughing again. ‘He would have loved seeing you land that trout, then land yourself, all without a net.’

  ‘It felt like Harry was right there urging me on,’ Mae said, ‘just like he did on our honeymoon.’

  ‘You’ve certainly got the knack. It seems fishing runs in the family. Or part of the family, anyway. William particularly loved it but Albert was never interested; hated getting wet and anything that might mess his hair.’

  ‘I think about him every day. I still can’t believe I’ll never see him again.’

  ‘You will, though, in your memories. He’ll always be there.’

  ‘Is that what it’s like for you? Do you have all the people you’ve lost with you every day? My mother, your mother?’

  ‘I do. I talk to them when I’m doing the washing, when I’m walking to the shops. Any time I’m not speaking out loud, I’m talking to them in my mind. Now Albert’s part of the conversation too.’

  ‘I talk to Harry all the time in my head, but I’ve always done that; when he was at sea, or when I was cooking his dinner. I talk to him about the house now, about all the problems we’re having getting the materials, getting carpenters to turn up to build the frames.’

  ‘That’s perfectly normal, dear. Especially when you’re going through such upsets.’

  ‘I’m upset about Albert, but I don’t feel too bad about the house. It’s as though it’s all happening to someone else, more of an annoyance than anything.’

  ‘What’s the latest estimate?’

  ‘The builder said we should be in by February but, honestly, the thought of packing up and moving is more tiring than exciting. I don’t know where to start.’

  ‘Maybe you could start sorting a few things now so there’s less to pack later on.’

  ‘But it seems silly not to pack as I sort, and we have nowhere to put boxes.’

  ‘Well, I’d be happy to help.’

  ‘Look at those maidenhair ferns. Yours always grow so well but I hear they’re pretty temperamental.’

  ‘Nonsense. You just have to make sure you don’t over-water them or put them in direct sun. Then they’ll grow like weeds, just like they do here.’

  ‘I’d love to put in a fern bed in the new place, along the south-facing wall of the garage.’

  ‘That’s a wonderful idea. We could borrow a spade from Mrs Jackson and dig up some of these. Pop them in pots till you’re ready to plant.’

  And so, later that afternoon, Mae pushed a rusted spade into the lush black soil around the plants. Taking plenty of the dirt around the roots, she laid the plants on large sheets of newspaper then wrapped them tightly in several layers, wetting the bundles as she stacked eight large ferns in a wheelbarrow.

  Mrs Jackson said the bus driver was used to guests taking green keepsakes home, that he’d make room beneath the back seat and help transfer their booty to the train.

  Then, after their day of exertion, the two women sat in front of a roaring fire, sipping sherry as they waited for dinner. With its low ceiling and red-painted walls, and shelves cluttered with porcelain figurines of ducks and fish, the sitting room had a cosy feel. ‘Busy but quaint,’ was Mae’s summation when she first saw the room. Et said she hoped Mrs Jackson had help with the dusting.

  ‘Ladies, your dinner is ready.’ Mrs Jackson placed a large platter of grilled trout on the table.

  Mae took her seat opposite Et and unfurled a linen napkin from its beaten silver ring.

  ‘Doesn’t this look lovely?’ Et said. ‘We must have this sort of outing more often. You can teach Katie to fish.’

  ‘We could bring William too.’

  ‘Perhaps, dear. I’m sure he’d like to be asked. Ma
ybe next autumn when you’re all settled in your new house.’

  Mae smiled and reached for the utensils to serve the fish. As she carefully separated a fillet from the bones, she noticed her naked left hand. Her wedding ring was missing. She dropped the spoons and the fish portion back onto the platter and tried to recall where she’d taken it off. She only ever removed it when she washed dishes or clothes and linen, and she hadn’t done either of those things today. She racked her brain, trying to recall when she’d last noticed the band on her finger. She was certain she’d worn it on the train; she never stepped out of the house without wearing it. That meant—oh no, no, no!

  ‘What’s the matter, dear? Fish not cooked?’

  ‘My wedding ring—it’s gone. I must have lost it in the river.’ Mae rose from the table and rushed towards the door. ‘I need a torch; I have to go look for it.’

  ‘Mae, you won’t see it in the dark. You’ll fall in again and be swept away.’

  ‘I have to try!’

  ‘Wait till the morning,’ Et said, wrapping her arms around Mae’s shaking shoulders. ‘We’ll search the room and your suitcase. That’s all we can do tonight.’

  ‘It can’t be gone, Et. I can’t lose another piece of him—of us. I just can’t.’

  CHAPTER 35

  * * *

  January 1945

  GRACE LET THE CAR’S acceleration press her further into her seat as she drove west out of Benalla. Dusk was the most dangerous time on the road, with kangaroos and wombats chasing food no matter where it ambled. Hitting a large animal at full speed could take out a fully laden stock truck, let alone a car. You just had to hold your nerve and not swerve into a tree trying to avoid animals. Easier said than done. Hopefully rain would keep the roads clear tonight of animals—and prisoners. She scanned the trees at the side of the road; she had no idea what she’d do if she saw anyone lurking in the shadows.