by Liz Byrski
Veronica was older by perhaps ten or more years, but Sylvia always felt that in her presence she was in the company of a much older wisdom. ‘It’s just that I’ve got the chance to go on a picnic with some school friends and their mothers, like we did years ago.’ She paused, feeling as though she sounded trivial. ‘I haven’t had a Mother’s Day off from the church for years …’
Veronica put her hand on Sylvia’s arm with reassuring firmness. ‘You make sure you have a splendid time. And, Sylvia … any time you feel like a chat, just pop round.’ She paused, waiting until Sylvia’s eyes met hers once again. ‘Just between us, of course,’ she said, ‘just between you and me.’ And with a smile she got up. ‘Enjoy your Mother’s Day, you deserve it. Don’t give it up, not under any circumstances. Well, I must get on. There are some accounts in the vestry I need to sort out. Goodbye, my dear, take care.’
The phone was ringing when Sylvia got back to the house and she let the answering machine pick it up. For a moment she didn’t recognise the rather tentative voice and then she realised it was Bonnie. This was the first time she had heard from her since their reunion lunch. The only other contact had been the call from Fran to organise the picnic.
‘Bonnie, Bonnie, I’m here,’ Sylvia said, intercepting the answering machine. ‘It’s lovely to hear from you.’
‘Really?’ Bonnie said, sounding surprised. ‘I thought – oh dear, I hope you don’t mind me calling. I just – well, I wondered – would you fancy meeting for a coffee?’
Irene was sorting out her wardrobe in an attempt to decide what she should take with her on the trip. Travel light, Marjorie had said, messing about with luggage could destroy the pleasure of travelling; cotton pants and shirts, a couple of jumpers and a raincoat, because you can’t trust European summers. Sandals and comfortable walking shoes. Irene inspected her walking shoes. Not that they’d be doing that much walking – none of them was under seventy-five, and they weren’t going in for lengthy treks – but just the same they’d probably be on their feet a lot. Tomorrow she would go out for some shoes; maybe Bonnie would like to go with her.
Irene sighed and sat down on the edge of the bed. Bonnie had gone off in a huff, or at least it was supposed to look like a huff, but Irene knew it was hurt or fear or both. She hadn’t been happy at all about the Greek trip.
‘But suppose something happened to you?’ she’d said, looking at her mother in horror. ‘Suppose you were ill or had an accident?’
‘I won’t be alone, I’m sure my friends will look out for me,’ Irene had said, ‘and I shall be insured. They do have doctors and hospitals in Greece, you know.’
‘Yes,’ said Bonnie, twitching her shoulders nervously, ‘yes, but not like Australian hospitals. Heavens, you don’t know where you might end up.’
‘If it makes you feel better, dear, I’ll ensure that Marjorie calls you straight away and you can do a mercy dash to rescue me. But I really don’t think there’s any need to worry.’
Bonnie paused and Irene’s heart went out to her as she saw her battling with the complex set of emotions that had flared at the prospect of being left alone. ‘But it’s such a long time – twelve weeks. Where will you stay?’
‘Part of the time – the first month, in fact – in a very luxurious villa with seven bedrooms and three bathrooms, serviced by friendly staff who all speak English. Marjorie and I will share a room. And then there’s a bit of travelling around, island hopping, staying in small comfortable hotels, and then back to the villa for the last month.’ She tried to make it sound as well managed and unthreatening as possible in the hope of reassuring Bonnie, but it didn’t work.
‘Island hopping! In small unsafe boats, I suppose, or, worse still, light aircraft. Whatever are you thinking? It’s quite ridiculous,’ she said, drawing herself up to her full height. ‘It’s just irresponsible, a lot of old people setting off like that, goodness knows what will happen. And how do you think I feel? I’ve only just come home after all these years and now you’re gadding off with your friends for months on end.’ Bonnie’s lips were trembling, and her eyes were bright with the start of tears.
Irene took her daughter’s hand and drew her down beside her on the bed. ‘Bonnie, listen to me, please,’ she said firmly. ‘I appreciate that you’re concerned for me and I promise to behave responsibly. The tour is very carefully arranged and planned for senior citizens. We’re all in control of our faculties or we wouldn’t be going. I’ve been looking forward to it for a long time, dear. I think if I had told you I was doing this while Jeff was alive and you were in Switzerland you would have been thrilled for me, maybe even proud of me. It just feels different for you because Jeff is gone and you’re living here.’
‘What do you mean?’ Bonnie asked.
‘I mean, it’s like when children grow up. As long as they live at home you’re parenting, trying to make sure they eat properly, every time they go out you worry if they’ll have an accident, you panic if they’re late home, or if you think they’re mixing with the wrong people, taking drugs or drinking too much. Then they move out and all that switches off.’
‘Out of sight out of mind, you mean?’
‘No, that’s not what I mean. It’s just different when your children aren’t living with you. While there’s this overall concern about them, you somehow don’t feel you have to be vigilant all the time. When you lived in Zurich, you weren’t worrying about my welfare and safety all the time, nor should you have been. It’s only now, because you’re here and we’re living together, you’ve started treating me as though you’re the parent and I’m the child.’
Bonnie kept staring out of the window. ‘Were you worrying about Simon like that when he lived here after the divorce?’
‘Yes,’ Irene nodded, ‘and a lot of good that did. He was forty-two years old, living with me, and he went out one night and that wretched drunk woman in the other car killed him. So much for my efforts to keep him safe. I worried like that when you and Jeff were here on holidays, but not when you were back in Zurich. I worry like that about you now that you’re here again. But the people you love have to be allowed to live their own lives and take their own risks.’
There was a long silence. ‘I suppose so,’ Bonnie said eventually, the hostility gone now though Irene could still hear the fear. ‘But I’ll miss you.’
‘And that might not be a bad thing,’ Irene said, knowing that she was swimming into very dangerous waters. ‘You need to think about the future, a new life for yourself. I love having you here but you can’t fill the gap by looking after me. If I’m suddenly struck down and need constant care I might have to eat my words, but you’re young, Bonnie, you have a lot of years ahead. They can be wonderful for you, but only if you’re prepared to see the challenge and the possibilities.’
‘I can’t think of any possibilities at the moment,’ Bonnie said, looking down at her hands clasped in her lap. ‘I feel completely lost without him. I don’t know what to do.’
Irene put her arms around her daughter and hugged her. ‘I know, but you won’t find out while you’ve got me to focus on. This is tough love, Bonnie dear. I’m not saying you shouldn’t still be grieving, that will take a long time, but you need to take care of yourself now, not be concentrating on me, and not poor Jeff either. He wouldn’t want it. He loved you so much, Bonnie, he’d want you to recover and have a good life.’
Irene sighed as she went over it all again. Was she right or was she just being selfish? Had she pushed Bonnie too far too soon? It had, she realised, been easier for her when Dennis died. Simon was gone, but Bonnie was still alive and well, albeit in Europe, and Irene had always crammed her life with activities, her painting and tapestry, the historical society, her love of music, plenty of women friends, the Save the Children Fund, and then the Save the Forests campaign – they were like a bunch of keys to a new start.
Irene picked up her battered walking shoes and carried them downstairs. Shortly after their conversation, Bonnie had m
ade a phone call and then called up the stairs that she was going out for coffee. She hadn’t said where or with whom, and Irene hoped that was a good sign. Her daughter was keeping something to herself for a change. Perhaps Marjorie was right; leaving Bonnie alone in the house for a while might make her take off the training wheels and ride confidently towards the future.
‘This is a lovely surprise,’ Sylvia said, sitting down at the table. ‘I can’t remember when I last came to Carlton. It’s not that far but I just never seem to come to this part of town.’
‘I hope you didn’t mind me calling …’ Bonnie said.
‘I was delighted. I really needed something good to happen today. And I’m so looking forward to the picnic. Wasn’t that a great idea of Fran’s?’
Bonnie nodded. ‘Yes, we’re both looking forward to it, Mum and I. Is Colin coming?’
Sylvia shook her head. ‘No, the call of duty. I decided to shirk mine. I haven’t had a good Mother’s Day since Kim went to England. You never had children, Bonnie?’ As soon as the words were out, Sylvia wished she hadn’t asked. It was too intimate a question after so many years of distance.
Bonnie hesitated.
‘Sorry,’ Sylvia added, blushing. ‘That was thoughtless of me, I shouldn’t have asked. None of my business.’
‘No,’ Bonnie said. ‘It’s just … well, I don’t usually talk about it.’
Sylvia waited, uncertain whether or not to persist.
‘We did have a child,’ Bonnie said. ‘A little girl, Lucy. She died, a problem with her lungs, and there were other problems too. She was four months old.’
‘Bonnie, I’m so sorry, what a terrible thing …’
‘They put it down to a drug I was given for morning sickness, Debendox. You might have heard about it.’
Sylvia nodded. ‘Yes, I remember reading about an action by some parents. I’m so sorry, Bonnie.’
‘Well … all in the past now,’ Bonnie said in an unusually brittle tone. ‘It’s a bit like it never happened.’
Sylvia put her hand on Bonnie’s arm. ‘I wish we’d stayed in touch, then Fran and I would have been there for you. I thought about you, Bonnie, you and Fran. I’ve always missed what we had.’
‘Me too,’ Bonnie said, swallowing hard. ‘That’s why I called today. I needed someone to talk to. It’s about Mum.’
Sylvia raised her eyebrows. ‘Feisty and independent as ever?’
‘Yes, and that’s the thing, really. Today we had a bit of a blue because she told me she’s going to Greece next month, a twelve-week tour.’
‘Oh, what a terrific thing to be doing at her age,’ Sylvia said. ‘I hope I’ve got the energy when the time comes, and the friends to do it with. Perhaps we should book in advance, Bonnie!’
Bonnie smiled awkwardly. ‘Yes, I can see that’s what I’d think if it was someone else’s mother, but … I’m so afraid something will happen to her. She thinks I’m compensating for losing Jeff by looking after her …’ She paused. ‘You think that too, don’t you? I can see from your expression.’
Sylvia put down her coffee cup. ‘It did cross my mind the other day when you told us what you were doing now. Irene’s trip might be a good thing. Maybe you need some time on your own.’
‘She might die,’ Bonnie said bluntly, her eyes filling up with tears, ‘then there’d be no one left.’
Sylvia leaned across the table and gripped her hand. ‘And she might die if she stays home with you, Bonnie. She’s eighty, but she’s also used to being alone and doing what she wants. You can’t start wrapping her in cotton wool, it’s not fair.’
Bonnie pulled some tissues from her bag and dried her eyes. ‘Oh Lord, I’m being so ridiculous,’ she groaned. ‘I’m sorry, she’s right, you’re right, I know that. Jeff warned me about this and I never took it seriously. I have no life of my own, no idea how to be alone.’
Sylvia walked up from the coffee shop to the corner of Lygon Street and paused at the traffic lights, wishing there was somewhere to go other than home. It was ironic, she thought, that she had sat in Brunetti’s with Bonnie, dishing out advice about change, about creating a life for herself, when her own life was such a mess. Why hadn’t she been brave enough to confide her own troubles? Loyalty, she supposed. Much as she longed to talk about how she felt, it just didn’t seem fair to do so behind Colin’s back, but it was a trap because in her heart Sylvia knew that any conversation with Colin would be akin to banging her head against a brick wall. He had mended the shepherdess and put it back on the dressing table. Neither of them had mentioned it, just the same way that neither of them had mentioned the fact that they had stopped having sex. That hadn’t been discussed at all. She didn’t think it was a deliberate decision by either of them, it had just stopped two or three years ago, perhaps more.
Sylvia shrugged and glanced at her watch. Almost four o’clock. She could get the bus home or go to the bookshop and to that wonderful fabric shop further down – was it on Palmerston or Lytton Street? It was so long since she’d been there she couldn’t quite remember. She crossed the street and walked down towards the bookshop as the audience from the two o’clock screening began to spill out of Cinema Nova onto the pavement. And there Sylvia stopped dead in her tracks. Just ahead of her among the cinema crowd was Colin, his close-cropped head instantly recognisable as he bent to listen to the woman whose hand he was holding. And as Sylvia watched, he straightened up, laughing, and the two of them set off hand-in-hand in the direction of the university. She stood blinking in disbelief. Not only was Colin emerging from the cinema in broad daylight, with another, considerably younger, woman, he hadn’t even bothered to remove his clerical collar.
FIVE
‘You don’t have to do anything at all about the food, Bonnie,’ Fran said, hitching herself onto the high stool in Irene’s kitchen. ‘That’s what I called by to say. I was almost passing, on my way to St Kilda for a photo shoot for a pamphlet I’m doing for an olive grower. So I thought I’d just drop by.’
‘It’s lovely to see you, Fran, after all these years,’ Irene said, joining her on the other stool while Bonnie filled the kettle. ‘I often read your reviews and use lots of your recipes. The zucchini and parmesan soup is one of my special favourites, and the dried fruits with rose and almond cream.’
‘Oh, that’s one of my favourites too,’ Fran said. ‘Daren’t make it too often because I just scoff the lot and it’s roaring with calories, but I’ll bring some along to the picnic.’
Bonnie poured water into the teapot and sat down opposite them. ‘You must let us bring something or it won’t be quite the same,’ she said. ‘We should all bring a picnic basket and pool the food. I’m sure that’s what we did before.’
‘That would be fairer,’ Irene said. ‘Yes, Fran, let’s all bring something, as long as I get to have some of yours!’ She laughed. ‘One of the compensations of age is that one can get away with outrageous greed!’
‘Well, no sandwiches of sliced bread and tinned ham this time,’ Bonnie said.
‘I wouldn’t rely on it,’ Fran said with a grin. ‘As far as my mother’s concerned, a picnic is not a picnic without ham sandwiches, and preferably tinned ham. I can double bake a beautiful ham on the bone but she never reckons it’s as good as the tinned stuff. Our only hope is that she’ll forget to make them. Her memory’s not what it used to be.’
‘I shall certainly eat some if she makes them,’ Irene said. ‘I’m so looking forward to seeing Lila again, and you’re going to be a grandmother, I hear, Fran?’
Fran nodded, picking up one of Bonnie’s almond biscuits. ‘Yes, if we all survive the pregnancy. Caro’s turning out to be the expectant mother from hell. But there was another reason I called by, Bonnie, I wanted a favour. It’s my tax. I’m a couple of years behind and I’ve got it in a really awful mess. I wondered if you’d come round some time and help me sort it out. I’ve been struggling for years doing it alone but now with the GST I’m totally confused.’
B
onnie pulled a face. ‘I’m really not up to date with Australian tax, but I’m sure all the information we’d need is on the Tax Office website so, yes, I could certainly have a look at it.’
Fran grinned. ‘At least you might be able to understand the instructions, which is more than I can do. One day next week, perhaps? Oh – and do you mind if David comes to the picnic? He’s home again, just got back from Qatar. He was planning to go to Sydney for the weekend but he decided to postpone it to be here for Mother’s Day.’
Bonnie stared at herself in the mirror and smiled. It was silly, probably, but she felt quite thrilled that Fran had asked her to help with her tax returns; it was odd that such a little thing could suddenly lift her spirits. And the conversation with Sylvia had helped. Perhaps fixing the reunion had been the right thing, after all. She’d had fun with her women friends in Zurich, organising dinners, playing tennis, commiserating over the men’s obsessions with their work, but somehow they lacked the forthrightness and the intimacy that she thought she might rediscover with Sylvia and Fran. She’d liked the way that Fran had called by that afternoon, and how she’d plunged into a conversation with Irene as though they’d last seen each other three weeks, rather than over three decades, ago.
Bonnie slipped out of her clothes and reached for her dressing gown, catching sight of her body in the mirror. It was showing signs of wear and tear. The tiny lines on her skin had once been almost imperceptible, but now she didn’t have to struggle to see them – the smoothness of youth, even the smoothness of her forties and early fifties, had gone. She stared at her breasts: not bad, really. Certainly there had been a shift downward but it could have been worse. The frightful thing, and she couldn’t avoid looking, was the way her pubic hair had faded. Faded or gone grey? Both, she realised with a sigh. She had been dying the hair on her head for so long that she had lost touch with how much grey there must be up there, but if this was any indicator she might be almost as grey as Sylvia. Sylvia didn’t attempt to hide her grey and it looked so elegant. Bonnie parted her hair, which had been coloured four weeks earlier: there it was, the natural colour – actually, the natural grey – trying to take over again. Maybe growing it out was the thing, but how would she live for months with a wide grey parting? The idea didn’t have a lot going for it.