The Quilt

by Carlton, Rochelle

  I begin to protectively wrap my ornaments. They create a pathetic display on the side board and an equally pathetic display in a tiny corner of my second suitcase. I burst into tears and eventually fall into an exhausted sleep on the couch.

  I am drowning, falling rapidly and then a sudden jolt. Strong arms had tried to stop my descent but it was too fast, careering out of control I had hit the bottom but there was nothing solid just the jarring terminal stop. Is that what Sandy had felt when her lungs had filled with salty water? Had she struggled suddenly desperate to hold on to her life no matter how bad the quality had been? Or had she let go, relief flowing through every nerve end as her life had ebbed away.

  The room tips around me and I sit up rigid with fear. I feel disorientated and wonder why I am on the couch. Slowly clarity seeps through my confusion and I look at the depressing two suitcases sitting near the front door. I walk across the polished floor to the kitchen. The flat smells of detergent and wood polish. It feels sterile and ready for the next tenant to add their personality to its interior.

  I had finally run out of tears and adrenalin four hours ago. I am tempted to crawl into bed and pull the duvet over my head but my nightmare is still too vivid. It has been years since my dreams have been filled with fear. Yesterday has formed a thread around the horrors of the last two years and they have now invaded my subconscious.

  I make myself a cup of coffee and try to focus on the strangers problems depicted in my out of date woman’s interest magazine. Finally the sun creeps weekly through my curtains and I pick up the telephone.

  “Hello Miss Kyle. Yes, we have your reservation. You are arriving on Sunday and staying with us until you can locate suitable rental accommodation.”

  “I am considering driving to Tauranga this afternoon. Is there any possibility you have a vacancy from today?”

  “I am sorry we are fully booked. I think at this stage you would be lucky to find anything before Friday. There is an international conference in Tauranga this week.”

  I hang up and rub my eyes. Jason was now competently managing my duties at the café and my suitcases were packed and ready to go. It is going to be a long week. I pick up Critters lead and walk to the busy beach front. It is bustling with people, the restaurants are full and skateboarders weave in and out of couples strolling arm in arm. I settle in a chair and try to bury my thoughts by watching the expressions on the unknown faces.

  I am falling, trying desperately to kick my way back to the surface. There is a dim diffused light above my head but the murky sickly water is filling my mouth and burning my lungs. Strong arms reach out to stop my descent but I am falling too fast. Flaying, kicking and screeching, how could I scream under water? There is no sudden stop just a high pitched noise followed by a dull thud.

  My eyes fly open and I try to orientate myself. Bright light seems to be shining through the net curtains. Is it morning? I can hear a muffled voice although it is barely audible. I feel my stomach contract. That was not a scream it was the sound of tires fighting for traction followed by the soft sicking thud of an impact. My nostrils flare as they register the acrid smell of burning rubber. I pull back the curtains and look into the confused unfocused eyes of my mother. She sits staring out wildly from behind the steering wheel of her SLK Mercedes. It has come to rest in the middle of the flats rock garden. Two angry black lines mark the path of the vehicle.

  I pull on a sweater and wrestle open the driver’s door.

  “What the hell do you think you are doing?”

  My normally composed mother tries unsuccessfully to focus on me. I reach over her swaying body and remove the keys from the ignition pushing aside an airbag that has deployed and now hangs limply from the dashboard. Randal Kyle is not going to find this situation amusing.

  A light came on next door and a concerned voice asks if they can help or ring for assistance.

  “No thank you. It was just a relative misjudging our driveway.”

  “You had better come inside before the police get involved.”

  I quickly scan my mother for injuries and recoil horrified as I inhale strong liquor on her breath. A lock of long blonde hair is stuck to her bright red lipstick. I am shocked that it has been applied too heavily resulting in a vivid scarlet line that smears down to her chin. She looks at me through bloodshot blue eyes emphasized by a mess of sky coloured shadow. The mascara has crusted in the corners.

  “Your father.”

  Her voice is slurred and I feel sudden panic.

  “He’s isn’t in the car?”

  “I’d be so bloody lucky! No, he has run off with his PA!”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Paula is half his age. Would you like me to ring him?”

  “He is your father and you can ring him anytime you want.”

  She narrows her eyes and spits.

  “But he is not my husband!”

  She settles like a rag doll on the couch and clutches a glass of cool water in both hands. I stare in disbelief at this irresponsible stranger that has invaded my mother’s body and wrecked her car. She puts down her water and her arms begin to make circles; they tangle hopelessly and fall in a soft mass beside her.

  “Satellites, that is what Randal and I are! Orbiting around and around.”

  She giggles and tries to locate my face.

  “Find a career my girl that makes you want to get out of bed. But find a man that makes you want to stay in bed more.”

  She points in my general direction and I notice her finger is devoid of a wedding band.

  “You know I love you don’t you? Your father has broken it.”

  Her head begins to slump and after a few more sentences that are mumbled with no semblance of order she falls asleep.

  I put another large glass of water on the coffee table and fill it with ice so that it will remain cold. I then cover this stranger that has invaded my mother’s body with a blanket. I lean down and kiss her lightly on the forehead, something she would never tolerate if she was conscious.

  “I love you to. But you have been bloody stupid tonight.”

  The phone was answered on the second ring.

  “Natalie Kyle speaking.”

  “Are you alright? I expected you would still be asleep when I got up.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Joanne, of course I am alright. I had a meeting first thing this morning so indulging in sleep was not an option. If you are ringing about the car I’ll get my secretary to organize a tow company to get it this morning. I don’t think there is any other damage is there?”

  “The damage is irrelevant Mum. Are you alright and do you want me to ring my father? Maybe there is a misunderstanding or you could benefit with some counselling.”

  My mother laughed without humour.

  “Joanne, your father has left. Packed up his rubbish and gone. He will not be coming back and that applies even if he wanted to. Please don’t be naïve darling, counselling would not help his infidelity nor would it help me forgive it.”

  There was a moment of silence and I wondered if she is checking the time.

  “I am sorry to cut you short but I have another meeting and I’m already running late.”

  The stranger has left my mother’s body.

  “Do you remember what you said last night? I always thought you and Dad were happy.”

  “Appearances, Joanne, that is what my profession is all about. In this industry I have to give the illusion of being perfectly happy in every aspect of my life and that includes personally. I hope you were listening last night or you could easily become me. Strive for a better life balance than I have ever managed to achieve.”

  Am I transparent?

  “Don’t worry. Your father and I are happy, just not happy together. You are almost ready to leave for Tauranga aren’t you?”

  I can hear someone in the background and her voice has become muffled behind her hand.

  “Are you there, Joanne? Send me your new address and I will contact you when I get ba
ck. I don’t think I told you I fly to New York tonight and will be there for a week.”

  I hang on to the phone. I don’t want her to go. I want to feel anchored. My mother’s life is unravelling and while I don’t want to burden her with my own selfish insecurities I need to know we are connected.

  “I love you.”

  “Joanne, I love you to. I really have to go or I will miss both my meeting and my flight. We will talk when I get back next week.”

  I have a meal at the local pub with Simon and Jason. I have learnt what it is like to feel alone while you are in the company of others. I unpack the bare necessities to survive for the next few days from my two suitcases and purchase up to date magazines and a mindless book to read.

  Wednesday, and I feel my sanity has returned. I spent the day managing the café so that Simon and Jason could go into the city. I again feel focused and have allowed a small amount of positivity to invade the darkness. I have compiled a long list of things to do when I start my new life. Friday no longer feels like an unattainable goal at the end of a long tunnel.

  I have allowed my fling with Paul to fall into perspective; he has been allowed to take up residence in a tiny corner at the back of my mind. I have accepted my decision to leave. I know that it would have been irrational to turn my back on opportunity to be with a stranger. My derailed career will soon be on track. Today I spoke to Peter Simms and he mentioned there could be a future opportunity for partnership. I smile; Simms, Graham and Kyle.

  The phone ringing pulls me out of the depths of a dreamless deep sleep. A quick glance confirmed it was three o’clock in the morning. No one rings at this hour with good news. Dread flows through my veins as I answer.

  “Joanne, it’s your father. Is there someone there with you?”

  “Has the world gone mad? What are you doing ringing at this hour and who do you think would be here with me?”

  I rub my eyes and try to focus.

  “It’s your mother.”

  “Please don’t even start this conversation with me especially at three o’clock in the morning. What the hell do you think you are doing running off with someone half your age?”

  “Shut up, Joanne, and listen please. Natalie has been in an accident. I would have come over to tell you in person but I’m in Sydney. I thought it was best it came from me rather than you hear through the media.”

  “What accident? I know about the Mercedes but surely the media would not find that newsworthy? She would only just have arrived in New York.”

  “Mercedes? The SLK?”

  He sounds confused and I feel a cold crawl go down my arms and settle like lead in the pit of my stomach.

  “Sit down, honey, and I’ll tell you what I know.”

  His voice is soft and comforting, one of the voices he reserves for the families of victims.

  “The police have just contacted me. I am listed as next of kin and they located me through the firm. Joanne, she is in a bad way. It sounds as though the taxi she took from the airport crossed the centre and ran into a line of oncoming traffic. It went through the barrier and was hit head on by a light truck travelling in the opposite direction.”

  “Joanne, are you still there?”

  I have sat down and I am fighting to keep calm. I know if I allow myself to fall apart I will not be able to absorb the information.

  “Yes, I am still here. She is going to be OK isn’t she?”

  “I really don’t know. What I have been told seems sketchy. I think tests are still being run to ascertain the full extent of her injuries. Both the taxi driver and truck driver were killed instantly.”

  He gave me a moment to absorb the gravity of the situation before continuing in his detached business-like voice.

  “I wish I could tell you more but all I know is her condition is listed as critical. I am booking a seat on the first flight I can. There will need to be practical arrangements made regarding her medical insurances. I think going over is the only way to make sure she is receiving the best care possible.”

  “I want to come as well.”

  “I think it is better if initially only I go. I promise as soon as I have talked to the medical people responsible for her care and know exactly what the situation is I’ll ring you. We can decide from there what the most sensible option is and when or if you should come over.”

  I feel numb with shock. Nothing is permanent.

  Talented, vibrant Sandy, drained of her life by disease until she was nothing but a dry shell. Becoming so exhausted that she had felt there was no option but to end it while she still had enough strength to decide the terms of her own death.

  My mother, bustling with energy and talent a few days ago has been living a lie. She has been running on nervous energy and driving ambition and for what? She is now lying in a strange hospital in another country waiting for the man she is about to divorce to arrive.

  My father, desperately trying to travel across the world so that he can sit beside a woman he no longer wishes to live with. I imagine his handsome, distinguished face and wonder if he is riddled with guilt. He should be. I know his lips will be pressed into a thin determined line and he will be thinking about his clients, his schedule, meetings and court appearances.

  I put my head in my hands and look at the person I have become. I was engaged to a man that only wanted me after I had gone. I was a caregiver, unable to make my friends life good enough for her to continue to want to live it. A daughter, too naive to notice her family security was based on a foundation of monetary success and that her parent’s personal fulfilment was nothing more than an illusion.

  I glare at the two suitcases and the mismatched furniture in my rented flat.

  I am a transient, about to pass through another town, make a new effort to establish friends and clientele. I will pick up those two suitcases and leave, but leave for what? To become a carbon copy of my mother? Like her, will I never take the time to stop and appreciate a precious moment or a special person? Did I find my special person; the one I have frustrated and alienated with my inability to deviate from my path and driving ambition to succeed and succeed independently? I burst into tears and cuddle a pillow until it becomes a soft wet mass in my hands.

  The house is empty. The Range Rover is parked at the front of the restaurant and the Harley is in the garage, shrouded in a soft mass of white fabric. The doors are open to the pool area but Jess is not inside. I stop and look at the view, I look at the white sails and I feel a calmness run through my veins.

  The sound of music carries up from the bay and I gingerly pick my way down the track. I wonder what happened to my lace panties and what happened to the stranger that was me in a more carefree time.

  Paul is painting the boat shed. He is dressed in faded ripped blue jeans and an old grey polo. The chipped paint door that had once swung haphazardly on rusting hinges is now bright sky blue and the surround is a bold yellow. This scarred man understands, he is restoring someone else’s memories.

  Jess looks up from her position in the sand near his feet. She barks and then slinks apologetically in my direction when she recognises me. Paul looks at me indifferently and begins to clean his brushes. I know that he is taking a moment to compose himself.

  When he looks at me again he searches my face and his brows knot in a frown.

  “What is going on?”

  He moves closer so that he is standing in front of me. I don’t meet his questioning eyes.

  “Something has happened to make me re-evaluate my priorities.”

  “Fuck, Joanne, stop talking like a lawyer and tell me what is going on.”

  I gulp and start talking. I am sitting beside Paul in the warm sand and listening to my own monotone voice. Occasionally, he skims a shell across the water or stops me to ask a question.

  I finish and fall silent. I feel numb and he seems to understand. Paul slowly gets up and extends his hand to me. He then wraps me in his strong arms but his embrace is detached and I understand it is
offered as support and comfort to a person in need.

  “Do we need a truck to pick up your belongings?”

  I frown.

  “I am not here to ask you to rescue me.”

  “Now isn’t the time to discuss that again Joanne. You are due to vacate your flat in a few days. Your career, personal circumstance and accommodation cannot be re-evaluated as you put it, until we know how serious your mother’s injuries are. I have several spare rooms that you are welcome to use and that will give us all time to navigate the best way through this.”

  I look down at my feet and try not to cry.

  “I have two suitcases, a box and Critter.”

  He stares at me but doesn’t comment.

  “I have never really settled anywhere.”

  I shrug.

  “No one should live without a feeling of belonging. What is the address? I will go and pick everything up. Have a shower and get some rest if you can.”

  The gravel crunches under Paul’s tyres as he leaves. A few minutes later Jean knocks and walks in. She is carrying a plate of crisp thin pizza topped with lush tomatoes and handfuls of fresh green basil. I recoil at the smell of food.

  “I am sorry, Joanne. You should eat something. Tomorrow will be the earliest you will get any news.”

  Jean settles into the comfort of the huge leather lounge suite. She picks up two small squares of fabric and begins to thread them together with perfect neat stitches. She must feel me watching and looks over the top of her reading glasses.

  “I will stay until Paul gets back if you don’t mind.”

  “Of course, I don’t mind. Is that a quilt?”

  “Yes, dear. It is the story of the Clarke family. It is very colourful. Perhaps Paul will tell you about them one day.”

  Jean returns to her stitching and I have a hot shower. I allow the water to run in a continuous scalding river down my body. I wash my hair, put on the clean tee shirt Paul has left out for me and open the doors. I inhale the salt, frangipani and the jasmine. I lie down on the bed and fall into a deep exhausted and thankfully dreamless sleep.