Trick of the Light

by Fiona McCallum

  ‘Yes, Mother, I am fully aware of our birth order. And, yes, I’ll look after the youngest member of the family.’

  ‘Let’s not forget who locked themselves out of the house last week and needed me to rescue them, Issy said from the back seat.

  ‘Yes, thank you, Issy,’ Mackenzie said, pointedly.

  ‘Girls,’ Erica warned, and wondered, yet again, how long it would be before she received a teary phone call from one dobbing on the other and begging her to referee some situation or other. Though a call would be alarming – and an emergency situation. The girls, as seemed usual for their generation, rarely spoke on the phone. Everything was texts and DMs. ‘You both have wonderful strengths and complementary skills,’ she said diplomatically. She hoped when they were out of hearing and couldn’t jostle for her attention they’d be fine. ‘Remember, don’t do internet banking –’

  ‘On public wifi,’ they sang together.

  ‘And don’t you be texting us a million times a day, like usual, Mum,’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘Yes, because some places might not have coverage and we could be days out of touch,’ Issy said.

  ‘So, no freaking out, okay?’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘Got it,’ Erica said with a laugh to try and hide what was really going on inside her.

  ‘When your number’s up, your number’s up,’ Issy said sagely from the back seat, causing Erica to glance quickly into the rear-vision mirror again.

  ‘Not helpful, darling,’ she said, catching her younger daughter’s eye and forcing a smile.

  ‘Issy, seriously?’ Mackenzie said with an exaggerated sigh.

  ‘Just saying. Mum, we’ll be fine. We’ll be very sensible, not take any risks, be vigilant about our surroundings – physically and online, et cetera et cetera.’

  Erica felt a hand on her thigh. She turned to look at Mackenzie.

  ‘And all the worry in the world won’t help, now, will it?’ she said, sounding older than her years. Actually, sounding just like her wise gran before the disease had dissolved her sharp mind. Erica patted the hand and nodded. I have to get a grip, she thought, literally tightening her right hand on the steering wheel until her knuckles ached. Else how would she be in months? Long-term stress could do serious damage to a person in all sorts of ways, and she was already debilitated.

  ‘We love that you love us so much, Mum, but we’ll be fine. We really will.’

  Unless something happens that’s out of your control. Stop it, Erica! ‘Of course I love you. And worrying is what mothers do.’ Her own mother, Helena, had said that so many times.

  ‘We promise to do our best to not give you anything more to worry about then, don’t we, Issy?’

  ‘No. Yes, that’s right,’ Issy said.

  ‘Thank you. Right. Okay.’

  The atmosphere inside the car seemed to become electric, like the energy unseen but felt of a thunderstorm, caused by the girls’ excitement and her unease. Well, I guess this is it, she thought, and reluctantly opened her door.

  She stood back as they unloaded their bags, letting the girls concentrate on what they were doing without her as a distraction. She’d said her piece. Their trip started here. Checking in alone where it was safe and relatively familiar was an important step. Erica suddenly remembered how her dad had gently pushed her – with a hand to her back – to go and check in alone. ‘Off you go,’ he’d said. When she’d returned, they’d been standing there, arms around each other, stoically waiting. It was only when she’d gone up to the next check-in counter in a foreign country for her connection that she’d realised what a gift they’d given her – strength, independence. They’d gently let her take the rope before distance cut it. She’d been alone. Mackenzie and Issy have each other, she reminded herself, and relaxed slightly.

  ‘Okay. Phew, glad that’s done,’ Mackenzie said, arriving back clutching boarding passes sticking out of her passport, Issy just behind her.

  ‘God, that’s stressful,’ Issy said, joining Erica on the other side of the security check. ‘Imagine how you’d be if you were actually trying to smuggle something through. Bloody hell.’

  ‘This way,’ Mackenzie said, studying the sign above her head and then taking off, leaving Issy and Erica to follow. Erica let them get well ahead and was actually beginning to wish she’d already left them to it, not insisted on holding onto them for these last few hours. If only Adelaide had separate domestic and international terminals, then she couldn’t have come this far with them. She longed to be home wrapped up in a soft throw having a good cry and feeling sorry for herself.

  They sat. Erica got out her book – a battered paperback she’d randomly selected from the huge bank of shelves at home, knowing it would probably only be a prop to stop her fidgeting and chattering incessantly and annoying the girls. Again, she thought of how nice it had been that her mum had just sat beside her knitting while her dad had read the paper. There was so much to be said for quiet contemplation. She hoped the hours she’d forced herself to sit beside Stuart, the only sounds the rustle of the pages she turned, the jangle of her jewellery and the steady electronic beeps and ticks of the machinery monitoring him and keeping his pain at bay, had been a comfort to him. She’d spent hours sitting when she’d longed to pace, keep moving.

  After what seemed both an eternity and just a few minutes passing – bloody time playing tricks with her – the girls were suddenly squirming after having finally become settled. Erica closed her book and opened her mouth. But before she could get a word in, Mackenzie spoke.

  ‘We’ll be perfectly fine, Mum. And, yes, we still have everything. We’ve lost nothing between the check-in and here. See.’ They both held up their passports with boarding cards poking out. She inanely wondered if they’d printed them out for her benefit and if everything was electronic now – even international flights. She hadn’t travelled internationally since the smartphone revolution.

  ‘We’ve got this, Mum. And so do you,’ Issy said gently.

  ‘I know. I’m just going to miss you guys.’

  ‘Don’t think we’re not going to miss you too,’ Issy said. ‘Especially your lasagne and your lamb shanks.’

  ‘Yes, we’ll be gagging for them by the time we get back,’ Mackenzie said.

  Oh you have no idea, Erica thought. The one thing she had really missed on her travels – other than her parents – was home cooking. No matter how much amazing food or how many fancy restaurants she’d eaten in over the years, the one meal she always needed, which she might have given her left arm for if necessary, was grilled lamb chops, mashed potatoes, and steamed peas and carrots.

  Suddenly she was gripped with sadness at how her mum had always known this was what she needed, without her asking – even right up until she’d moved into the nursing home. God, it was the simple things she’d missed. Apricot chicken had been Stuart’s favourite. And she’d cooked it – had it in the slow cooker – every night he’d come home after a stint in hospital. There were times when he couldn’t eat and he was so apologetic about that, but he’d always said even then how nice it was to come home to the sweet aroma, especially after the chemical scent of the hospitals and doctors’ rooms, which all seemed to smell exactly the same. Erica struggled to swallow the memories. They might as well have been fish bones.

  ‘No tears, Mummy,’ Issy said, leaning into her.

  Erica smiled, and returned the gentle nudge.

  ‘Now, Mum,’ Mackenzie said seriously. ‘You can’t lock yourself away in the house like you’ve been doing.’

  Erica looked up and over at Mackenzie.

  ‘Don’t think we haven’t noticed,’ Issy said. ‘You’ve practically become a hermit. You said Dad wouldn’t want us cancelling our trip on account of him. Well, I don’t think he’d want you cancelling your life because of him either.’

  Yes, well … ‘Oh darling, I …’ But Erica had no words, not that she could share with them, anyway.

  ‘If you get lonely and need a boarder, do it
. They can have my room,’ Mackenzie said.

  ‘And mine,’ Issy said quietly.

  ‘Thanks, darlings, but –’ She stopped when Mackenzie raised a hand and continued speaking.

  ‘I’m not finished. It might be our time to travel, but it’s also your time to do what you want too. Your job as mum is done.’

  ‘Darling, it will never be done,’ Erica said with a laugh, ‘but go on.’

  ‘Mum, please just start having fun again,’ Issy said.

  Oh shit. I’ve failed.

  ‘Yes, but we don’t want to see any icky stuff on Facebook. No tattoos, no drunken escapades,’ Mackenzie said, clearly attempting to lighten the suddenly gloomy mood.

  ‘And that goes for you two, too,’ Erica said.

  ‘Don’t worry, we’ve set up a separate group for all the raunchy stuff – you’ll only get the sanitised version. Just joking.’

  Erica rolled her eyes.

  ‘That’s us,’ Issy said, looking up. Sure enough, people were starting to line up. They hugged tightly as a group.

  ‘Keep in touch and look after each other,’ Erica said.

  ‘We will,’ Mackenzie and Issy said, and put their arms around each other – most likely just for their mother’s benefit, Erica thought.

  ‘And have fun,’ she called as they walked away, suddenly remembering. Of course they would, but it seemed very important that she issue this instruction and give them permission. In all her worrying, she’d almost forgotten that bit. They raised their passports in acknowledgment and then waved as they skipped through the frosted glass door and out of sight.

  Erica felt empty and limp, as if she’d used up all her strength. She was a little surprised she was still standing on her legs, which didn’t seem attached any more. She wanted to sit down and not ever move but also to race home and close the door behind her and wallow. All around her people clung to each other crying. Erica didn’t have tears, was just numb and very, very sad. And lost. Suddenly she wasn’t sure what to do, how to get out of the terminal and back to her car, how to even walk.

  She felt a part of the package of grief inside her, which she thought she’d plastered together, break off, leaving a gaping hole. No matter how many times she told herself this was completely different, she couldn’t shake the feeling it was just like losing Stuart all over again – when she’d come home from the hospital with his bag of things, placed them on the kitchen bench and stood there completely inert while the girls retreated to one of their rooms.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Mumma Bear.’

  Erica turned at hearing a familiar quiet voice. There, standing behind her, were her three dearest friends. Her heart surged. ‘Oh my god. What are you doing here?’

  ‘We thought you might need a little moral support,’ Steph said.

  ‘But would never ask for it,’ Renee added.

  ‘Oh, you guys. Thank you. I’m fine.’

  ‘Of course you are,’ Michelle said. ‘And anyway, maybe we’re not – not fine with never seeing you these days, that is. So, we’re here to have coffee with you.’ It was said gently, but Erica’s back tightened. Had she really become that bad? Had they all noticed?

  ‘I’m just –’ she began, but stopped.

  ‘No need to explain,’ Renee said.

  ‘No, absolutely not,’ Michelle said.

  ‘You have to do what you need to do,’ Steph said. ‘We’re just teasing.’

  ‘But we do want you to know – to remind you – that we’re here when and if you need us,’ Renee said.

  ‘I know. Thank you. And I really appreciate it. Everything you’ve done. And being here. I’ll try to do better.’

  ‘Darling, you don’t need to do anything,’ Michelle said. ‘Just be wonderful you.’

  It was on the tip of Erica’s tongue to explain, confide. But she was exhausted. And where would she start?

  ‘So, shall we have a quick cuppa?’ Steph said, moving off. As she followed her cousin, it suddenly dawned on Erica that her three friends seemed to know each other better than mere acquaintances who had met at Stuart’s funeral and one or two other occasions before. They were all very different people and as far as Erica knew had nothing in common beyond being connected to her. Steph’s mother Irene was Helena Tolmer’s sister, and Erica had been almost as close to her aunt as to her mum – a better and stronger relationship than Steph’d had with Irene, as she was only too happy to acknowledge. Steph was calm, strong and could be very bossy. If it weren’t for her particular brand of kind and at times cajoling phone calls every morning for those days and weeks, Erica might never have been able to get herself out of bed. Underneath Steph’s at times sharp corporate exterior, she had a heart of gold; she’d give you the shirt off her own back if necessary, Erica’s dad had often said. Erica always added, ‘But only if you deserve it.’ Steph was no fool, couldn’t suffer them at all and was even less likely to tolerate self-pity. She’d worked hard to get where she had. Like Erica’s, her parents hadn’t had money to splash around. Instead they’d instilled common sense and resourcefulness.

  Erica smiled to herself, wondering how Steph was coping with Renee, who was a sweetie but could come across a little vague and scattered because as an aspiring artist she was always thinking beyond the here and now. Well, that’s how Erica saw it, anyway. Creating inside herself, was how Renee had explained it when they met about seven years ago. She had stopped to watch Erica working on a client’s makeup. Renee was curious about everyone and everything and switched between being really quiet and brooding and vivacious and chatty. Renee had been mesmerised. When Erica had finished, she’d mistakenly taken Renee’s interest for awe and regret for not being able to afford to have her own makeup done. Erica had felt an instant connection to her – of course having your work admired helped – and had offered to give her a freebie then and there. But Renee wasn’t interested in wearing makeup – she just loved watching people create, tinker. Until meeting Renee, Erica hadn’t realised how much she liked that too. They often went to craft and design markets and got caught up standing for half an hour at a time watching an artist at work. Erica loved how Renee – around a decade younger – refused to succumb to wearing makeup or dressing like everyone else. Renee was an individual and it wasn’t just about trying to appear arty and rebellious. She really didn’t care what others thought of her look. It wasn’t that she was unclean or outlandish. You couldn’t say she was inappropriately dressed because she was covered up. She was just different. She didn’t seem to have a signature look, beyond cobbled together. And just when you thought you might have figured it out – oh, right, she wears patterned bottoms and plain tops – she would suddenly be dressed in plain bottoms and patterned tops. Renee was probably still experimenting and yet to settle on her signature style. Just like with her art and her life itself. She was still dabbling, she said. ‘Bit of this, bit of that.’ Erica wondered if she was just being coy and secretly doing brilliant things back in the one-bedroom flat she rented and suddenly they would receive an invitation to an incredible exhibition that would sell out and be raved about by critics. Meanwhile Renee worked in Target. The world needed more Renees, even if just to reduce some of the ridiculous waste. Erica wondered how Steph would cope with Renee’s lack of cohesiveness, and could imagine her cousin crying exasperatedly, Just make up your bloody mind and go for it! Perhaps they hadn’t had enough to do with each other to get that far into a conversation. Though Steph did like to put people’s lives in order and did love a new project. Erica thought Steph should have been a nurse rather than the head of sales and marketing at a large corporate, an opinion reinforced after all the hospital stays and nurses Erica had encountered. She’d been very grateful for every last one but even in her traumatised state the prevailing bossiness they all possessed hadn’t escaped her notice.

  ‘Here?’ Michelle, Erica’s other dear friend said, stopping by a table and looking around the small group for confirmation; Erica noticed her eyes lingered
on Steph. Again, she almost smiled to herself. Steph was clearly seen as the leader. Poor Michelle didn’t stand a chance. Sensitive, kindness personified, she would practically wither under Steph’s assertiveness and decisiveness. Michelle was a darling but often struggled with decisions and when you didn’t know her very well could seem a little flaky and timid. No, not indecisive: a people-pleaser – would put herself out every time in order to keep others happy or from feeling awkward.

  She was a lot better at standing up for herself now than she was when Erica had met her seven years earlier at the gym, just after Michelle had realised the damage having a narcissistic mother had done to her confidence. Already slender, Michelle was at the gym every break from her job as the manager of a child care centre trying to slim down because every time she saw her mother she’d been looked up and down and found wanting. Erica had seen photos and been shocked when Michelle had said her mother always told her she was fat. It was insanity. Erica had assumed until she’d seen the photos that Michelle must have lost a lot of weight just prior to them meeting, but the photos said she’d always been dainty.

  After that day Erica had gone and visited her parents and hugged them even tighter and for longer than usual. Poor Michelle had also been through the wringer with men, only realising during all her research and therapy that choosing the wrong sort of love, and therefore partner, was also a relic of her childhood with a single mother who didn’t know how to love. Erica hoped one day Michelle might meet a man who would simply adore her for being her. Michelle said she was scared of attracting yet another douchebag into her life and those of her three children, who were just starting high school. Erica admired the positive attitude she’d kept despite the way she’d been treated. She’d matter-of-factly told Erica what her three partners had done to her as if it was normal. Perhaps in her world it was. But certainly not okay. Thankfully she was now stronger with the power of knowledge. Live and learn was her mantra – always delivered with a roll of the eyes and wry grin. Erica thought that if she’d been through the emotional abuse Michelle had she’d be bitter and angry – and probably in prison for murdering some arsehole or at least severely maiming him. Michelle always said it was her kids who kept her out of jail, and stopped her hating the men completely and taking them to the police or court for their more despicable deeds. She was grateful to these men for her children, who she might not have had if she hadn’t fallen for selfish arses who were controlling and loved their women barefoot and in the kitchen.