by Liz Byrski
Lesley lies there for a moment, eyes closed, groaning softly, fighting back tears, then rolls onto her side in an attempt to get up, but everything hurts too much.
‘Don’t,’ says a voice just behind her, ‘don’t try to get up yet. Just take your time.’
Lesley rocks back slightly and lies down again, on her back this time, squinting up at several anxious faces looking down at her against the background of the brilliant blue sky.
A woman stoops down beside her and takes her hand. ‘Wait until you’re ready, dear,’ she says. ‘It’s such a shock, falling, when you get to our age.’
Lesley’s first reaction is dismay that this woman with the lined face, untidy beige hair and a dull beige dress thinks that they are the same age. She is about to protest that she is only fifty-eight when the woman gestures to a man standing behind her.
‘The pillow, Ted, give me the pillow,’ she says. And the man silently hands it over and she gently lifts Lesley’s shoulder and slips the pillow under her head and neck. Lesley thanks her, rubs a hand across her face and finds it streaked with blood. The woman tugs a wad of tissues from a box and passes them to her. It’s clear that her nose is bleeding, and when she lifts her head she sees that her top is soaked in coffee, and she has ripped the knees of her cotton trousers. Everything is spinning and she closes her eyes and drops her head back onto the pillow, waiting for it to stop. Eventually the world seems to right itself again and after various suggestions from the onlookers she is able to sit up. Most fade away now, just the beige woman, Ted, and a young girl from the café remain.
‘You can come inside and get cleaned up if you like,’ the girl says.
But the smell of meat pies is not something Lesley thinks she can revisit right now.
‘Thanks,’ she says, ‘I’ll just get cleaned up in the toilet, but a drink of water would be nice.’ The girl hurries away and returns with a bottle of water.
‘It’s this tarmac,’ the man says to the girl, kicking at a rough ridge in the surface. ‘Bloody dangerous, the lady probably tripped on it. You should get it fixed.’
‘I’ll tell the boss,’ the girl says, and heads off back to the café.
‘You could sue them, you know,’ he says, leaning down towards Lesley and peering at her. ‘Made a shocking mess of your face.’
‘Shut up, Ted,’ says the beige woman, ‘that’s the last thing she wants to hear right now.’
Lesley struggles to sit up.
‘Let me help you,’ the woman says. ‘My name’s Marion, by the way. I’ll come with you to the toilets. You’ll probably be a bit unsteady.’ And she takes Lesley’s arm, helps her to her feet and steers her towards the toilets, talking comfortingly about there being a lot of blood but probably no real damage.
Lesley cups her hands under the cold tap and plunges her face into the water several times before burying it in the towel that Marion has ordered Ted to bring from the car. Does this woman travel with a complete set of linen? she wonders.
‘Just a bit of luck I have things with me,’ Marion says, watching Lesley as she examines her face in the flyblown mirror. ‘We’re on holiday, on our way to Margaret River, but I like to have my own pillows and towels. You never know what the place will be like, do you? I don’t take chances with pillows. See, it’s not too bad, is it, a bit of gravel rash, and I think you’re going to have a nasty bruise across that cheekbone, but the nosebleed has stopped now.’
Lesley wants to point out that her face looks like a war zone. Her nose is crimson – rapidly turning blue – and in addition to the cheekbone her chin is red raw and there is already a purplish mark on her forehead. Her knees are bleeding and she has ripped a shirt she bought only last week. But she manages to restrain herself.
‘You’ve been very kind,’ she says, ‘but I don’t want to hold you up. I think I can manage now. I’ll get back on the road – be home before too long.’
Marion is aghast. ‘But you can’t drive! What about concussion? You might just pass out and veer across the road, who knows … ?’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Lesley says firmly. ‘I’m not dizzy or anything now.’ She hands Marion back the towel. ‘Sorry about the blood on the towel. Thank you so much for your help.’ She turns towards the door.
‘You really shouldn’t, you know,’ Marion, says, pale blue eyes fierce with anxiety. ‘It’s not very responsible of you—’
‘I said I’ll be fine – thank you,’ Lesley says firmly, and walks away as quickly as she dares in the direction of her car.
‘Well really …’ Marion says.
And as Lesley slips into the driving seat she can hear Marion reciting the details of her ingratitude to Ted. She grasps the steering wheel with both hands and rests her forehead on them. The fall has totally disarmed her, wrecked the veneer of confidence she had tried to establish in order to face Gordon and the children. Now all she feels is guilt and loneliness – something she has never felt before. She is alone with her secret, lacking even a conversation with Declan to help her make sense of it all, unable to confide in anyone. It seems to her now that in going away she cracked open the cocoon of security in which she had for so long reigned supreme. That could have been a good thing had she used the experience wisely; instead she wasted it in diversions, and then capped it off by sleeping with Declan.
Lesley is not used to being in the wrong. She has thrived for years on being right, on being a good wife to Gordon, a good mother to her children, a good daughter, and as far as possible a good sister, albeit at a distance. Her sense of rightness has defined her. She is the one to whom people come for advice, for help and solutions. And through it all she has greeted any hint that she might be wrong about something or someone with a dismissive smile. But even as she reminds herself that this all began with Gordon being so selfish, she knows that to be in the right over this would look very different indeed.
Lifting her head she stares at her face in the driving mirror. She looks appalling. She can’t go straight to Simon and Lucy’s place now, she’ll have to go home first and get cleaned up, make an effort to look more like her old self. But she fears that her guilt will cut through her attempts to appear normal. In the mirror she can see Marion standing with Ted near their car, staring at the back of hers, and as she watches she sees a look of concern cross Marion’s face and she begins to walk in her direction. Lesley switches on the engine, releases the handbrake, slips into gear and moves out of the forecourt towards the road just in time. Back on the road again, she turns on the radio and fills the car with the sounds of an orchestra playing The Blue Danube. Strauss she thinks, good tunes, this will help. Anything, anything to drown out how she feels. But not even Strauss can do that because as the music swells and fades and swells again, it all comes surging back and the tears begin to flow, burning her sore face as she drives.
‘Crikey! You look terrible,’ Simon says, opening the door to her. ‘What’s happened to your face?’
‘I fell over. In a petrol station on the way home,’ Lesley says, stepping inside with the big canvas bag into which she has packed some gifts she bought for the children, along with honey, wine, cheese and pâté.
There is a clatter of feet along the passage and the twins hurl themselves at her.
‘Nana, Nana, Nana’s back,’ Tim croons, butting her hip with his head. ‘Did you bring us something?’
Ben, the quiet one, gives her a huge grin and grabs her hand to lead her through to the kitchen where Lucy and Karen are making salads.
‘Oh your poor face, Lesley,’ Lucy gasps, wiping her hands on a tea towel and coming across the room to kiss her.
Karen, her lips pursed into a familiar disapproving pussy’s bum, stares at her from a distance, hand on her hip, ‘What did you do, Mum?’
Lesley, hoping that sympathy might banish disapproval, sighs, shrugs, explains once more, unloads the twins’ gifts from her bag and starts to unpack the rest of the contents onto the kitchen table. ‘No Nick?’ she asks.
‘Gone to the bottle shop,’ Karen says, ‘he’ll be back shortly.’
Lesley looks around again. When she had got back to the house the place was locked up and Gordon’s four-wheel-drive was in the garage. She’d assumed that he was already at Simon and Lucy’s place but there is no sign of him here.
‘Glass of wine?’ Simon asks, holding up a bottle of chilled semillon.
‘Please, yes,’ Lesley nods. ‘Where’s your father?’
‘Oh he’s gone,’ Simon says, pouring wine into her glass. ‘Left on Thursday.’
‘Left?’
‘Early Thursday morning. He should be there by now.’
Lesley takes the glass from him. ‘Where?’ she asks. ‘Where’s he gone?’
‘Up north,’ Simon says, looking at her in surprise. ‘He emailed you. That work he’s been wanting to do with the Land Council. He’s gone to the Kimberley.’
‘He emailed?’ Lesley asks, confused by what this new development might mean.
‘Early in the week,’ Karen says, irritably.
‘But he should’ve called.’
‘Ha! Well a lot of good that would have done seeing you haven’t been answering your phone or returning messages. I expect he got fed up with having to speculate about what exactly you were doing and when you were coming home,’ Karen says, ripping the leaves from a lettuce she has just pulled from the fridge.
Lesley’s initial shock turns to relief – a couple of weeks, maybe, before he’ll be back, time to get herself together, talk to Declan, work out what to do. ‘I said I’d be here for lunch today, I said so to Simon …’
‘You didn’t answer your phone or call back when I rang on Friday evening or yesterday,’ Karen snaps. ‘But perhaps I should be used to that by now.’
‘Look, Karen—’ Lesley begins, knowing she is on shaky ground.
‘Stop!’ Simon says, holding up his hand as if he’s controlling traffic. ‘We don’t need an argument, Kaz, Mum’s back now.’
‘Well how gracious of her,’ Karen says, continuing to torture the lettuce. ‘Pardon me if I don’t join in the applause.’
For a terrible moment Lesley can hear herself in Karen’s voice: her sarcasm when things don’t go her way, the sharp tongue that often gets away from her when she’s hurt or angry.
‘Loosen up,’ Simon says, ‘that’s not going to help.’
‘No,’ Lesley says, feeling her face flush. ‘No, she’s right. I’m sorry, Karen, I’m sorry, everyone. I’ve been going through a bit of a bad time and I haven’t been very thoughtful. I owe you all an apology.’
‘Accepted,’ Nick says, swinging in through the back door with a dozen beers, and doing a double-take at the sight of her face. ‘Hmm. What’s the other bloke look like?’
Lesley smiles at him, thankful for the interruption. The tension seems to be broken. Lucy starts to examine the cheeses and pate, and the boys, having opened their presents, sprawl across the floor throwing wrapping paper at each other. Karen gives her a long look, nods and turns her attention back to what’s left of the lettuce.
‘So when’s Dad coming back?’ Lesley asks, trying to keep her tone as light as possible. ‘This week, next?’
Simon, who has just opened one of Nick’s beers, takes a swig from the bottle and looks awkwardly across at his sister. ‘Ah well, quite a while, I think. Look, you need to check the email, Mum, but it could be three months or more?’
‘Or more,’ Karen says without looking up. ‘He’ll be checking email at least once a week but a lot of the time he’ll be out of mobile range.’
‘Three months … but that’s …’
‘Ages, yes,’ Karen says, ‘but then you’ve been gone more than a month yourself.’
Lesley ignores the jibe. ‘Is he on his own?’
‘He’s working with people up there.’
‘But he went alone?’
‘Of course,’ Karen says. ‘Who else would he go with? You’d already said you wouldn’t go.’
The tension is back now and with a vengeance.
‘He took Bruce, though,’ Lucy says in an apparent attempt to break it once again. ‘He said he’d keep him company on cold nights,’ and she gives an awkward little laugh.
‘Bruce?’
‘He’s got a dog,’ Simon explains, ‘an abandoned Jack Russell that adopted him when he was out cycling. Cute, really, got a face that looks as though he understands every word you say. Anyway, the barbecue’s doing well now so you and I can get cooking, Nick,’ and the two men saunter off out of the kitchen, with Tim and Ben close behind them.
‘Three months,’ Lesley says again.
‘It might be less,’ Lucy says.
‘But he can’t just—’
‘Why not?’ Karen cuts in. ‘Why can’t he? Why shouldn’t he? He’s wanted to do this for ages and now he’s doing it. At least he told us, which is more than you did.’
he café is half full – not bad for breakfast on the first day of trading. Alice had decided to open on a Wednesday to allow time for them all to get into the swing of it before the first weekend, but it’s busier than they had expected or even hoped.
‘It’s a really good start,’ Ruby says, ‘and Alice has done a terrific job.’
Declan, tucking into a potato cake with crispy bacon and a poached egg, nods energetically. ‘I knew she would,’ he says. ‘Alice has very high standards.’
Ruby watches him for a moment, wondering whether or not to broach the subject and deciding eventually that she will. ‘We talked while you were away, Alice and I,’ she says. ‘I know what happened, the drinking, the accident, prison, all of it.’
He looks up from his plate, sits up straighter and pats his lips with his serviette. ‘I see.’
‘You could have told me, you know. It’s not a problem.’
‘But I didn’t know that at the start,’ he says. ‘I wanted to protect her, and I suppose myself as well. I needed an ally.’
‘In case I turned out to be a problem?’
‘Exactly.’
She smiles. ‘Fair enough. But just for the record I think bringing her here was a fine decision, generous, thoughtful and sound judgment.’
He smiles and blushes slightly. ‘Thanks, but I really should have told you earlier. Once I realised that … well, that it wouldn’t be a problem.’
Ruby shrugs. ‘We’ve made a good start,’ she says, ‘that’s what matters. It could have been very different …’ She hesitates, glancing across to the counter where Leonie, whom Alice has employed to help manage the orders and the table service, seems involved in some sort of altercation with Paula. ‘Oh dear, I think we’ve got a problem now, but hopefully Alice will sort it out.’
They watch as Paula, not satisfied with whatever Leonie has told her, demands to speak to Alice, who is summoned from the kitchen. There is a short, apparently hostile conversation and Paula, obviously affronted, tosses her head in annoyance, slaps some coins down on the counter and, picking up the order number Leonie has given her, heads straight for their table.
‘The hide of that woman,’ she says, pulling out a chair next to Ruby. ‘You need to do something about that Alice and her helper. They charged me for my coffee, like I was just some customer, bloody cheek. I told them both I was going to take it up with you.’
Ruby and Declan exchange a glance.
‘Well you are just a customer in here, Paula,’ Declan says firmly. ‘We all are. Did you read the notice I put up in the staff room?’
‘Yeah, but I thought that was for the new people and the casuals,’ Paula says, fiddling with the scrunchie that is holding her ponytail in place.
‘It applies to all of us,’ Ruby says. ‘Even you.’
‘You’re kidding. Well I bet it doesn’t apply to you.’
‘Actually it does,’ Ruby says, ‘although that’s really none of your business. Benson’s Café has to become self-supporting, a viable business in its own right. It can’t do that if everyone who works here gets the
ir coffee and meals for free.’
‘Bloody hell,’ Paula says, her face flushing. ‘What sort of place is this? In Catherine’s day I always got free coffee or tea whenever I wanted it.’
‘You get that now,’ Declan says, ‘same as you always did. There’s always tea and coffee in the staff room, and you, Paula, have the added freedom to make yourself something in the house kitchen whenever you want. That hasn’t changed.’
Paula, visibly annoyed, sits back in her chair, folds her arms and glares at him across the table. ‘Can’t see the difference myself.’
Ruby turns towards her, her own annoyance mounting. ‘Well whether you see it or not, Paula, is immaterial. We know the difference and we get to decide.’ She doesn’t like her own tone as she says it. She has had a number of difficult staff in her time, many of whom were far less efficient and more awkward to deal with than Paula, but right now she can’t recall anyone whom she has found so damned annoying.
They sit in silence for a moment and Paula flashes a killer look at Leonie when she brings her take-away coffee and doughnut to the table. Then she straightens up, takes the lid off the beaker, empties two sachets of sugar into the coffee and stirs it with unnecessary vigour.
‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘I really came in here to talk to you about my job. I’ve been thinking I’d like a bit of a change.’
Ruby holds her breath. Is Paula going to leave? It would be a great relief if she did. On the other hand it will be hard to find a replacement who measures up to Paula’s standards.
‘What sort of change?’ Declan asks. ‘Are you planning to leave us?’
‘’Course not,’ Paula says, twisting the gold chain with the Kylie charm that she wears around her neck. ‘No, I was thinking I’d like to take over from Fleur. Nice job that, and quite a bit more money I should think?’
Declan looks like a deer caught in the headlights, and Ruby holds his gaze and shakes her head, hoping the movement is imperceptible to Paula alongside her.
‘Well … that’s difficult …’ Declan begins.