‘Sorry?’ Erica said, forcing her attention back to the room. Mackenzie had spoken so quietly she’d almost missed what she’d said. And had she misheard anyway?
‘Why don’t you come with us?’ Mackenzie said.
‘Yeah. It’d be fun, Mum,’ Issy added.
Erica’s heart swelled. ‘Oh, bless you, darling girls.’ She wanted to gather them to her. Right then all the sacrifices she’d made were totally worth it to have raised two such thoughtful, gorgeous young women. ‘But you don’t want your old mum tagging along and spoiling your fun,’ she finished breezily, desperate to hide the sudden wave of emotion that had gripped her insides.
‘We’re not going to be doing anything silly,’ Mackenzie said.
‘I know. But, still, it wouldn’t be the same for you with your mother in tow.’
‘We really wouldn’t mind,’ Issy said. The plaintive gaze she bestowed upon Erica made her wonder if – hope – they were actually having second thoughts about leaving the nest after all.
‘Darlings, it’s so lovely of you to ask – it really is – but I need to stay here. I have to work. And I had so much time off when your dad was sick that I don’t have any leave left.’
‘Oh. Yeah.’ They both looked down at their hands lying in their laps.
Erica wasn’t sure what was now going through their minds. ‘Maybe I’ll be able to join you along the way sometime for a quick visit,’ she said.
‘Yeah. That’d be good,’ Issy said, brightening up.
‘Sounds like a plan,’ Mackenzie said.
‘Are you having second thoughts about going?’ Erica ventured. ‘Because you can change your minds, you know. No one will think any less of you if you put it off for a bit. Or not go at all,’ she added gently.
‘Oh no,’ Mackenzie said. ‘We’re going. In two weeks, as we planned, for sure. Well, I certainly am!’ she said, her usually self-confident demeanour back.
‘Me too,’ Issy said, with a little less certainty.
‘We just thought you deserved time away too,’ Mackenzie said. ‘You know,’ she added with a shrug.
‘I appreciate the thought, darling girls, but I’ll be fine. I am fine. You don’t need to worry about me,’ Erica said brightly.
‘Okay. I’m making a coffee if you want one,’ Mackenzie said.
‘Oh, yes, please.’
Alone again, Erica pulled her chair back up to the desk and rubbed her face with her hands in an effort to resist the building tears.
***
Erica cocked an ear and listened to the girls cheerfully fossicking in the kitchen. Everything was worth it to hear their grief being punctuated by a moment of happiness, of joy. Erica knew you had to grab those precious moments with both hands and hold on to them tightly for as long as you could. It was her main focus as a mother – to help navigate them through the grief of losing their dad with as little impact and scarring as possible. Not that she knew what she was doing. Did any parent ever? Really?
At eleven, she’d probably been too young to fully take in what losing her older brother had meant. Or perhaps it was the wonderful care her darling parents had bestowed upon her that meant she didn’t know the true impact on her beyond sadness and the huge piece missing from her heart and life.
Mark was eighteen and they’d been close – well, as close as you could be as siblings with such an age gap. She’d been too young to hang out with him often and he wouldn’t have wanted his younger sister tagging along anyway no matter how much he liked her. If they’d been together, would he have drowned in the murky water hole or would he not have been so keen to show off to his mates and dived in where it was too shallow? Might he have done a bomb instead of diving? Could she have saved him? She didn’t like to think about it. Didn’t tend to much. Tried very hard not to.
But losing Stuart had brought up all sorts of upsetting emotions and conflicting thoughts she’d successfully shut down after losing her mum. She now often found herself wondering if the care her parents had taken in protecting her and nurturing her, shepherding her away from the pain by wrapping her extra-tightly in their love, had come at the expense of their own mental and emotional health. While Erica remembered there being plenty of crying, neither parent had ceased functioning. Had they both ended up with dementia because they’d bottled up too many of their own feelings and put the stopper in? She was so grateful to them for everything, but especially showing her that tears were okay and also that life went on but in an altered state. She couldn’t explain it, given that Mark’s name was never mentioned, but he did remain a presence in the house and their lives. Not in the way some families kept a lost loved one’s room intact as if they might walk in the door one day and take up occupancy again. Though, now she thought about it, Erica couldn’t put her finger on why or how she thought they’d kept his name or memory alive. Perhaps unconsciously they’d done the right thing.
Erica didn’t have a choice about keeping Stuart’s memory alive – he was everywhere around them. This room with its minimalism was so him, as was the house itself. If left to her own devices, Erica might have chosen something a little smaller, less ostentatious. But when they’d moved back from the US they’d had plenty of money and Stuart had wanted something he could impress his clients with.
He was in venture capital; while she didn’t know the ins and outs of the field and didn’t care to, she did know it was all about convincing people to invest large amounts of money in various projects and industries. Basically, he was a salesman, he’d told her on their first date. And he was a good one – or was back then – because she’d bought him hook, line and sinker, as the saying went. And he’d done well throughout their marriage, because they’d had a great life, she thought sadly. But she’d have lived in a tent with him and eaten nothing but baked beans on toast.
And the rate she was going, it might just come to that. Tears stung.
If Stuart’d had a fault, it was that he believed in himself a little too much. Too confident. And his slightly crooked grin, the glint in his eye, could probably convince Eskimos to invest in a snow-making machine. And when he added a wink, people were putty in his hands. He’d made Erica literally go weak at the knees. Right to the end. Even still, really. In hospital, fighting for his life, he’d set those big brown eyes on her and she believed every word he said. She hadn’t thought for a second he would die, despite seeing all the scans and talking to all the doctors and specialists. Stuart had her convinced he was going to beat it. She figured that was why she’d been in a complete state of shock for the entire first few months after his death. How could he have failed her like that? Physically and financially. She’d had moments of anger at him for leaving her. So many times she’d wanted to yell and scream at him. And then the guilt would cut in. And then the remorse. And the sadness.
Grief was one big ball of emotions swirling around inside of her. The physical pain was a layer on top of her overall exhaustion – a completely different type of tiredness from what she’d experienced with the girls as babies and getting up to them through the night and then the accompanying drag during the day. This sort went deeper and was all-encompassing: too big and too deep for coffee or a nap or glass of wine to have any effect on. It was not a gritty-eyed tiredness but a weight that tried to hold her down, and left her suffering regular bouts of inattention, even when she got plenty of sleep – though she hadn’t slept well for more than the odd night here and there for years and couldn’t imagine doing so again. It was deeper than that. Or that’s what she thought. Maybe it was tiredness, but just too ingrained after going on for so long. She could function, and she did, but it was as if she was moving through thick mud surrounded by fog. And sometimes she didn’t think you could really call it tiredness because she was quite perky and energetic. It was more like she just couldn’t be bothered with certain things she had before. And time did weird things. She wouldn’t be surprised to learn one day in the future this had all been a dream – or nightmare – and she’d b
een out to it for a year or on another planet. Or for one day.
Sometimes she found herself staring and frowning at a glass or a spoon with vague curiosity or wondering what it was for. And when she realised – came out of her trance-like state enough to put the object to use – doing so seemed an insurmountable task. All too often she found herself snapping back to attention after realising she’d been staring at the object in question for ages. Or it took Mackenzie and Issy reminding her she’d zoned out or a quip from them telling her what the object in her hand was for. ‘Mum, you look like you’ve never seen a glass before. It’s simple. Look, you pick it up and take a sip. Like this.’ And Erica laughed along with them while they demonstrated. More and more she was having to laugh off moments of vagueness, but the truth was plenty of days she just wanted to curl up and die too. Or not die, but just not have to do anything or face up to anything. Give in to the fog around her pulling her down, smothering her. But she owed it to the girls to keep going. She was raising two young women into a world that despite commentary to the contrary was still dominated by men and their views. And she couldn’t exactly declare herself strong and independent given her cosseted life with Stuart and letting his career take precedence over hers. She had some regrets, but being mother to Mackenzie and Isabella was not one of them.
Now she had to face them leaving her too. Her cousin and best friend, Steph – when she’d accidently let slip this concern – had said that Erica should be proud of herself for raising them to be ready and to want to leave, especially two siblings who had such a close relationship with each other and their mum. And especially after all they’d gone through in losing their father.
Erica hadn’t been able to bring herself to admit that she desperately wanted to beg the girls to stay. Another friend, Michelle, had gently suggested that now she could have her time in the sun, get her own career back on track. She’d nodded in response, unable to tell them the truth about that either. She wondered how she’d go when the girls weren’t there and she didn’t have the impetus to keep herself together. That scared her too. And being alone. The girls weren’t big on parties and going out at night – they’d been too busy working. One of them had always been home at some point. She couldn’t remember ever having spent a whole night all alone in the house and the thought of it terrified her, but she didn’t want to admit it to herself, let alone anyone else. Stop it! she told herself firmly. Cross that bridge when we come to it. You’ve got this far.
Her friend Renee told her to just focus on one day at a time, or one hour or even just five minute increments, when she was really struggling. Anything to keep from completely losing herself to the darkness constantly trying to swallow her.
At least when they went, she wouldn’t have to hide how frugal she needed to be. If they’d realised she was cooking a lot more chicken and vegetarian meals and almost no beef and lamb, they hadn’t commented. And they didn’t seem to have noticed that Erica hadn’t ordered in any takeaway or that they hadn’t had a meal out together since Stuart’s death. Nor that she hadn’t raved about a movie she’d seen. Giving up going to see films was probably her greatest sacrifice. She loved escaping into a cinema and inside fictional characters and storylines and used to go at least several times a month. But doing so was expensive – and now a luxury, though not really in Erica’s mind. She thought that had helped keep her sane – certainly while Stuart had been in hospital. Much better than pacing the house and feeling helpless when not with him. But she’d reluctantly cut them from the budget and made do with the online streaming subscriptions. The girls would certainly notice the cancellation of those, so that had to wait until they left.
It was taking some getting used to, but Erica was determined to win this battle – to become strong and independent herself. Perhaps she should be sharing more about their situation with the girls, not protecting them so much from things, but that was her choice. And in so much of life you were damned if you did and damned if you didn’t. Right now, she was having enough trouble trying to keep her mind clear and climb out of the quicksand Stuart had dumped her in without having to answer a million questions from the girls. And risking them turning against her. She couldn’t bear them leaving angry or disappointed in her. That would destroy her. They were all she had.
Chapter Two
A week later, on one of her two days off a week from work, Erica detected movement in front of her and looked up from the desk to see Issy in the doorway. She was spending far too much time in the office and far too much time perusing budgets and spreadsheets, but it was necessary. And she thought she was winning, just a little.
‘Darling,’ she said. ‘What’s up?’
‘We’ve made a chocolate cake. Come and have some while it’s warm,’ Issy said.
She closed the laptop and put the paperwork into the second of the stack of three document trays, got up and followed Issy out into the hall and down to the kitchen. As she went, she cringed at not only hiding away back here and missing being part of the baking from the start, but at the fact they probably hadn’t felt comfortable interrupting her until now. They’d been pottering about together in the kitchen since they were little, but it had become a particularly good and important form of therapy after losing Erica’s mum. Gradually their interest had waned for a few years, always picking up around stressful or intense times like during high school exams and now.
‘Sit,’ they commanded when they were in the enormous open-plan living—dining area. Mackenzie put a mug of milky tea on the lacquered coffee table in front of Erica with a napkin and Issy brought over three plates each holding a piece of chocolate cake and a fork and placed them down. Erica forced herself to relax. There wouldn’t be any more opportunities for this for ages – the girls left in just a few days.
‘Mum?’ Issy asked after they’d been eating for a few moments.
‘Yes, darling.’ Erica’s antennae went up. It was the tone which had the slightest edge to it that told her they were opening a tricky conversation. Before Stuart’s death she might have smiled to herself or shared a knowing look with him and a quiet ‘uh-oh’. The girls had probably done Paper Scissors Rock to decide who would approach Mum about whatever this was. She put down her fork and gave them her undivided attention. Could they be bringing good news? Oh, yes, please.
Issy snuggled a little closer on the long white leather couch on one side of her and Mackenzie on the other.
‘Um. Are you going to go through Dad’s things before or after we go?’ Issy asked.
Oh. ‘Oh. Well …’ Erica blinked. She was enormously relieved they weren’t asking for more money and wasn’t sure what question or topic she’d expected, but it wasn’t this one. ‘Um. I haven’t really thought about it,’ she lied. ‘Why do you ask? Is there something of his you want?’
Both girls were suddenly a little fidgety.
‘What? What is it?’ Erica asked, gently putting a hand on each of their nearby legs and looking from one face to the other.
Issy shrugged and said quietly, ‘I think I want to take something of his with me. You know … to remember him. I know we have his memory and our memories but …’
‘You want to take a memento of him with you? That’s completely understandable.’
‘And of you,’ Issy hastened to add.
‘We’ll be in touch texting, so that’s different. I get it. You don’t need to explain,’ Erica said. ‘Do you want to go through his things with me now – we could do it today or tomorrow or any day before you leave. Or is there something specific you want? His watch, maybe? Though you’d be devastated if you took it with you and something happened to it while you were away,’ Erica said. Regardless of whether she wanted to avoid thinking about them being robbed, it was a possibility. ‘So maybe something sentimental but that mightn’t have value to anyone else? We could go through the albums and files and print off some photos.’
‘Maybe. What about his wallet?’ Issy asked quietly.
‘That’s
the first thing someone will want to steal, Issy,’ Mackenzie said. ‘And then what would be the point of the new one you just bought?’
‘Not necessarily to use. Just to have. Maybe.’
‘Come on, let’s go and have a look, though I’m not sure what there is,’ Erica said. As she made her way up to her bedroom, she racked her brain for something Stuart might have had two of, to keep things equal. She understood what they were looking for and knew they wouldn’t know what it was until they saw it and it might be something completely different for each of them. She’d done this soon after Mark had died. She’d gone into his room and stood gazing around until she spied the perfect item. She’d always thought it had chosen her, or rather Mark had somehow had something to do with it. She didn’t believe in ghosts and all that nonsense, but she’d had a really strange feeling she should take his favourite scruffy holey red woollen jumper. She’d worn it every night through high school while doing her homework and continued to sleep with it under her pillow for years afterwards and had never let it far from her sight. Even now it was in the top drawer of her bedside cupboard, barely hanging together in some spots, shrunk and stretched out of shape, but there nonetheless.
It had been her mum’s idea to have something not valuable but which epitomised Mark and or what he meant to her. As she thought about the hotchpotch of treasured items with which Mark had cluttered his bedroom, she cursed Stuart’s love of minimalism. She couldn’t exactly split up a pair of cufflinks. Well, she could … though none of them really leant themselves to being put on a chain as a pendant. Anyway, it was up to the girls to decide. She didn’t want to influence them. There were no exciting or even unknown finds to unearth here. If only he’d been so transparent with our finances … She frowned at the thought sneaking in.
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