‘Well, she might want to.’
‘Thank you, Issy. I appreciate what you’re saying,’ Erica said. ‘And I assure you I will not contemplate getting married any time soon or without you here.’ She wasn’t sure if she wanted to laugh or cry. It was probably her own fault for exposing them to too many romantic movies.
‘Okay, but I still don’t want you to sell the house,’ Issy said quietly.
‘Duly noted,’ Erica said, smiling in an effort to lighten the mood. I just bloody well hope I have a choice. No one knew what the next six or twelve months had in store.
‘Yeah, it’ll be nice to come home to, well, home,’ Mackenzie said.
No pressure, then. ‘Well, I’m not planning on going anywhere,’ Erica said.
‘Good,’ they both said with obvious relief.
‘Come on, sitting around being all sad isn’t helping anyone,’ Mackenzie said, slapping her thighs and getting up again.
Erica’s insides contracted at noticing how much she sounded like Stuart. God, what am I going to do here alone without you to keep me sane?
‘At least there’ll be some well-dressed homeless people out there once we’re done,’ Mackenzie said.
‘It’s not just homeless people who go to op shops, Mackenzie,’ Issy said.
‘I know, I was just saying …’
‘Maybe Dad’s success will rub off on whoever wears his stuff. I hope so,’ Issy said, getting up and going over and starting to take a shirt off one of the many wooden hangers. Erica cringed again as she got up slowly and joined them in folding up the shirts and putting them in a pile on the vacated bench.
Chapter Three
‘Hurry up, Mum,’ Mackenzie shouted from her bedroom down the passage. ‘We’re going to be late.’
‘Yeah, Mum, come on! You don’t need makeup – you’re only going to visit Grandpa and then to the airport!’ Issy called from her own bedroom. Erica was in her en suite touching up her makeup, taking a few moments to compose herself. She paused with her mascara wand in mid-air, took a calming, slightly deeper breath, and held it for a moment before letting it out gently. ‘How would you know? I might be going out afterwards,’ she called, attempting to sound playful.
‘Yeah, right,’ Mackenzie said. Erica knew she’d be doing a dramatic eye-roll.
‘Are you?’ she heard Issy say a little apprehensively, and instantly regretted the retort.
Darling Issy was so much more sensitive than Mackenzie. There was no way Erica was ready to start dating again and, at forty-nine, the idea of nightclubbing or even being out after nine-thirty, really, made her yawn. Even if she could afford it.
‘And, anyway, even if you are, you still don’t need makeup. You’re perfect just the way you are.’
Erica smiled. Her youngest was so much like Erica’s darling mum. Helena Tolmer had said this same phrase to Erica a million times growing up and Erica had uttered it just as many times to her own girls.
‘Thank you, darling. And we are not going to be late. We have plenty of time,’ she called back.
Everyone most likely assumed Erica’s dedication to being perfectly made up was all to do with vanity. Oh, of course that played a part, but there was so much more to it, psychologically – well, to Erica anyway. She couldn’t speak for other women – or men, for that matter.
To Erica, makeup served as more than a covering to hide any noticeable flaws and give her confidence. When she had her full makeup on, she was a stronger, more together person full stop. To some extent, sealed. She hadn’t once cried in public or at home in front of friends or strangers. It wasn’t that she tried extra-hard not to, she just couldn’t. There was no tightness in her throat, no tears in her eyes – no emotion whatsoever tried to push its way out when she was carefully made up. She’d been shocked when she’d realised this, after one of her best friends, Michelle, had looked at her sideways and asked if she was okay one day not long after her mother’s death, her intense gaze belying the carefully casual tone of her question.
Michelle, true friend that she was, had asked the question a lot over the years of Stuart’s battle, but it was at the hospital soon after they’d been told he had run out of options and his days were numbered that her friend’s tone and look had taken on a slightly alarming new dimension – like what she was really asking was Erica all there in the head or had she lost touch with reality or something. Erica had said, ‘No, I’m not okay,’ but her expression hadn’t changed. And that wasn’t due to her trying hard to be strong and keep herself together. She was forced to contemplate if there was something wrong with her – was she a callous psychopath, for instance? Until she looked back and realised that in the years since her mother’s passing, even while dealing with the shocks and worries of Stuart’s illness, even after visits to her dad at the home, she had quite often fallen apart only while carefully cleaning her face or afterwards. She joined the dots and realised that each morning she was literally putting on a happy face – well, not always happy, but still …
She’d wondered if she’d just trained her psyche to not cry so as to avoid panda-eyes – all the mental coaching from day one. That’s probably what her dear friend Renee, who was all into positivity and the power of self-talk, would say if she asked. Erica suspected it might have origins in why she’d started wearing makeup to start with, as a teenager. She didn’t feel stronger when wearing it, she was stronger – to her it wasn’t like an actor putting on a costume. Or maybe it was. The whys and wherefores didn’t really matter.
And it didn’t matter where or when it had started – positive or negative. And while it was very helpful to Erica, she could also see appearing stoic might prove detrimental to the teenage daughters she was raising. So, while it took a lot of willpower, she had started making a concerted effort to not wear makeup at home and to allow her vulnerable side to show and help the girls be free to be emotional. Being sad, devastated, lost, disappointed and angry were all part of grieving and shedding tears was healthy and necessary physiologically. Personally, she’d have liked to keep her makeup on and shield herself from falling apart in front of anyone, shove it all down and not let it out until it went away, but as a mother she needed to set a healthy example. And she’d do anything for her girls.
She checked her appearance in the mirror and then put everything back in the dedicated cosmetics drawer and closed it. A little reluctantly. Her bathroom was her sanctuary and her time spent putting on and taking off makeup was probably what Renee might refer to as meditation. Of course, Erica could get through her whole routine in just a couple of minutes, and she had plenty of times over the years, but she enjoyed the process, the methodical nature of it, and taking her time. Erica loved everything about makeup – if she didn’t, she wouldn’t have tried to make a career out of it.
‘Right, you two, you’d better be zipped up and by the door when I get there.’
***
‘I hope he recognises us this time,’ Issy said, as they got out of the car and made their way towards the entrance of the nursing home where Erica’s parents had moved years before, and where her father still lived in full care.
‘Don’t bet on it, darling,’ Erica said, touching her arm. Erica both loved and loathed these visits. The arrival was almost as difficult as leaving later – the trying to work out where her dad’s mind was at that moment, how much he knew, how cheerful or otherwise he was. Thankfully he’d settled into his confused new state without the angst and violence some other patients and their families experienced. Erica was at least glad about that. He generally seemed happy with his mind locked on the past – from what she could tell, the period just before her brother’s death, just where her mother’s had been for most of the time she’d had dementia before it had claimed her.
It was such a bloody cruel disease, but Erica thought it was the relatives and other loved ones who suffered from it as much as, at times even more than, those afflicted with it. She was also very grateful that both her parents had seemed to
acquire it at the same time and had progressed at the same rate. Sad for her losing them both but happy for them. Their memories had been entwined like their arms. They’d always been an affectionate couple – not sickeningly so: just frequent touching of each other on the arm or holding hands, kissing foreheads and cheeks, brushing lips with lips. Now her father hung onto anyone nearby for dear life, not realising they were not his darling Helena – his bony hands clutching on so tightly his sharp knuckles became white and hands at times reddened. Being alone for too long or losing sight of another person were the only times he really became visibly anxious. Erica hoped she worried more about it all than he did.
At the glass door Mackenzie put the code into the pad and Erica took a quick deep breath to steel herself.
‘There you are, Grandpa,’ Issy said, rushing over to Erica’s father, seated beside an old woman in padded chairs near the window of the huge loungeroom. They both looked up with the same vacant, slightly confused smile.
Erica hung back as the girls made their way through the room between other groups of residents, saying hello and offering friendly smiles and pats on the hands and shoulders to those they knew and others who looked up and caught their eye. Erica filled with pride at watching her gorgeous, patient and kind girls and then grinned to herself as they high-fived old Mr Brown and told him he was looking especially sharp.
Mr Brown, also suffering dementia, was one of the few residents who’d been there almost as long as Arthur Tolmer. He was always dressed in an old-fashioned brown wool dressing gown with twisted cream and brown rope belt, but had the swagger of someone more formally attired. Erica had learnt he’d spent his working life as the concierge at a posh interstate hotel.
He beamed up at her as she paused to say hello and shake his hand and introduce himself, just as he did every time he saw her. He was a sweet old guy. Thankfully this evening he didn’t grab her hand and begin an earnest tale, which often had the habit of meandering and taking a long time to get to the point, if there was any point arrived at or not. Sometimes he simply stopped talking mid-sentence and fell asleep.
Bless him, Erica thought and pulled out her phone to snap a few quick photos of her girls kneeling beside their grandfather. She longed to never forget this lovely sight, which gave no hint of the sadness behind it. Time was precious and she did her best to capture as much of it as possible. She knew only too well the unreliability of memory. She sometimes woke up in a panic over being unable to remember the precise shade of Stuart’s eyes, the shape of his smile, the exact position of his frown and laughter lines. She hated that day by day she was forgetting him, and them. Of course, the financial mess he’d left her in didn’t help.
As she moved closer, she realised there was something extra on her father’s lap on top of the colourful crocheted knee rug. He was stroking a black and white kitten.
‘Who’s that, Dad?’ Erica said.
‘Kitty,’ Arthur Tolmer said, looking up, a big smile plastered across his face. Behind the open gaze Erica could see the hint of confusion in her father’s eyes. ‘Kitty,’ he said again, gently running his hand over the curled-up creature in his lap. Erica found herself smiling at the thought that growing up she’d never been allowed to have a pet. All that hair everywhere and the possibility of fleas and ringworm were apparently the reasons. And, yet, here we are.
‘What’s its name?’ Issy asked.
‘Kitty,’ both Arthur and the woman beside him said at once in matching knowing monotones.
‘Grandpa, we’re going on our big overseas trip tonight, so we won’t be seeing you for a while,’ Issy said.
‘Arthur, where are we going?’ the woman beside him said, ignoring Issy and nudging Erica’s father. Rosie, was that her name? Erica scoured her memory. She hadn’t been in the home long, but she often found them sitting beside each other. Rosie. Yes, she thought that was it.
‘No idea, dear,’ he said happily and kept stroking the cat without missing a beat. ‘Kitty,’ he said with a nod.
‘We’ll miss you,’ Mackenzie said.
‘We’ll miss you,’ Rosie muttered. ‘Kitty?’ she asked, looking up with big eyes.
‘Yes, that’s a kitty,’ Mackenzie said, smiling back.
Erica’s heart ached. Her chest became tight and her throat choked. Tonight was so hard to watch on top of having to say goodbye to the girls and with the knowledge that this could be the last time they saw their grandpa. And she was so proud of them for including Rosie when, with their time so precious, it could be so easy for them to focus on their grandfather.
Sometimes Erica wanted never to come and see this, but her love and respect for her father always saw her visit several times a week. He didn’t know when or how regularly she was there, but she did.
She looked around the quietly bustling room. Some residents were playing chess and other board games. Some were nodding away and moving – dancing – in their chairs to music in headphones. Others cradled plastic lifelike babies and lovingly tended to them – some stroking and cooing to them, some with them on their shoulder patting them to simulate burping them. The common theme was that everyone seemed content and well cared for. Thank goodness he was in a facility that to the best of Erica’s knowledge hadn’t been touched by the awful abuse that had been uncovered elsewhere. And thank goodness her parents had saved well and remained self-sufficient. The thought that Stuart’s financial misdemeanours might have had a negative impact on her dad made her shiver inside. Erica regularly found herself shuddering at the thought of how she’d cope if she had their care to grapple with on top of her own. Both teachers, they’d never been wealthy, but they’d been careful and saved well, as Erica found out when they’d needed to look into care facilities. Theirs had been a household where one’s personal finances and individual political and religious preferences were subjects completely off-limits, so it had been very uncomfortable – probably more so for her than for them, she thought. She regularly found her cheeks flaming with embarrassment when she thought about what her dad would think if he knew of the mess she’d allowed herself to get into. Of course, if he knew, he wouldn’t scold or make her feel worse; he would just try to look for a solution. And help her. Though maybe if they’d talked about certain things around the dining table and she’d learnt to be forthright about money conversations, everything would be different …
At least her situation wasn’t completely dire yet. Her head was still just above the water line. With two fewer people in the house she’d be able to significantly lower her grocery and electricity bills. God, she hated even thinking that – and she’d also not have their weekly contribution of board. She wanted to have been in the position to hand it back to them later – for another trip or help with getting by when they began studying. Perhaps even contribute to the deposit on their first properties. It’s what she and Stuart had discussed quietly in bed the same night the girls had offered to start contributing, all the time pausing to admire how well they’d raised them to be so fiscally responsible at such a young age. But the money had been gobbled up as part of general expenses, as far as Erica could tell. There was nothing in the statements showing that Stuart had kept it separate and neither Paul nor Toby had mentioned it. And thank goodness she’d had it these last few months. If she turned things around sufficiently, maybe one day she’d be able to give it back to them – she could easily work out approximately how much it was.
She checked her watch. Goodness, where has the time gone? ‘We’d better get going, girls,’ she said quietly.
‘Is it time to go?’ Erica’s father asked, making to begin dislodging the cat on his lap. Erica reached over and put a hand on his.
‘No, Dad, we’re going. You stay there. We’ll see ourselves out.’
‘Arthur, is it time to go?’ Rosie said, also beginning to move in her seat.
‘No, Rosie. We’re going,’ Issy said gently, touching the old lady’s arm. ‘You stay here with Grandpa and Kitty.’
‘Kitty?
’ Rosie said, settling back and sounding a little relieved.
‘We’re off on our trip, so we won’t see you for ages,’ Mackenzie said, standing up and wrapping her arms around her grandpa’s shoulders.
Erica’s own throat caught at hearing Mackenzie’s voice catch and shake.
‘Bye bye, Grandpa,’ Issy said, hugging her bewildered grandfather.
‘You off now, then?’ he said, and again looked ready to push himself up and out of his chair.
‘Don’t get up, Grandpa, we’ll see ourselves out,’ Mackenzie croaked.
‘Bye bye, then. See you tomorrow,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Safe travels,’ Rosie called out after them.
‘God,’ Mackenzie said as they closed the front door carefully behind them with a clunk.
Yes, that about sums it up, Erica thought as she put an arm each around the girls’ shoulders and, together, they walked back across the car park.
In the car on the forty-minute journey to the airport the mood gradually became lighter the further they got away from the nursing home. By the time they parked, the girls were excitedly chattering again and posting travel updates on their phones.
‘Okay, one last time,’ Erica said, unwilling to get out of the car and start the process of saying goodbye. ‘Passports and spare passport photos?’
‘Check,’ Mackenzie and Issy said together.
‘E-tickets?’
‘Check.’
‘Important phone numbers written down? Important, important ones memorised?’
‘Check.’
‘Printed copies of your credit cards and travel insurance details?’
‘Check.’
‘Anything else? What have we forgotten?’
‘Nothing, Mum, we’ve been over it a million times,’ Mackenzie said.
‘We’ll be fine,’ Issy said.
‘And, anyway, we’re only going to be a phone call away. Well, and a few thousand kilometres. But still …’
‘That doesn’t help, Mackenzie,’ Erica said, smiling through her misgiving. Is it too late to stop them? She looked across at Mackenzie beside her and then Issy in the rear-vision mirror. How could she even think that? They were so excited. And happy. And god they needed that. They’d lost a lot of their childhood and been exposed to so much adult stuff and emotion so early because of Stuart’s illness and death. She’d raised two sensible girls. Now they needed to be themselves and enjoy their adventure without their mother laying on a guilt trip – consciously or unconsciously. ‘You’ll look after each other, won’t you, Mackenzie? You’re the oldest, so …’
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