Chapter Ten
Erica struggled more and more each morning to get up and out of bed over the next few weeks. And when she did leave the house, unease followed her. So much so she often looked around in case she was actually being followed or watched. But she was determined to stick to her well-honed routine to keep her mind on track and that included going for her morning walk. And she couldn’t not go to work. But when she left her gate, she became a little panicky and it took a lot of strength to keep on going. God, how terrifying to be one of those poor people who actually couldn’t make themselves leave at all. She’d seen stories about some who had been trapped for years and years, decades even. Such thoughts always sent a shiver down her spine. But at least she could, with a lot of cajoling. She was just being overly sensitive due most likely to her hormones, grief and financial stress on top of it all.
So, be grateful for that, she’d tell herself and push forwards more confidently.
Often to distract herself she contemplated her life and how she’d changed and where Stuart’s death had left her, other than the obvious. Perhaps it was that she was through the worst of her grief, but after such a big loss, with such an enormous hole in her life, nothing seemed quite as worthy any more. It was as if nothing could fill the meaninglessness left behind. Life just didn’t seem as worthwhile. No, not life: what she was doing with her life. But she enjoyed her job. Didn’t she? Yes. Hand on heart, I do. It might not be considered glamorous, worthwhile to some, but still … And, yes, perhaps I should be doing something more meaningful. But what? And what is should anyway?
In some ways Erica felt a fraud for working in such a seemingly frivolous industry and she hoped her girls saw the message she’d tried to instil from the beginning – that it wasn’t the actual job you did, but that you were true to yourself no matter how you actually spent your time. If it was a job you didn’t like, at least make sure there was a good reason for doing it – even if that reason was simply to pay the bills, freeing you to achieve enjoyment elsewhere.
Not everyone needed a dream job or one to aspire to; that was probably just what the people selling all the books and courses on empowerment and wealth wanted you to strive for. Not a lot different from the cosmetic industry telling you aging and having a roadmap of wrinkles as proof of having lived and laughed wasn’t okay, Erica thought, standing at the bus stop watching her bus approach. And even if you did find your nirvana and feel completely fulfilled, life regularly got in the way, turned plans upside down, derailed, diverted. Didn’t she know that all too well? Stuart had been in the prime of his life; he should’ve had so much more to give and achieve.
And look at all those affected by the bushfires. So many people had lost not just their homes and holiday homes and everything inside and out, but also their means of earning an income – businesses they owned and ran or premises they worked in or provided goods or services to. And plenty of towns and outlying areas that hadn’t been touched by actual flames had still been decimated financially due to being cut off for so long and then no longer being considered a pretty or safe place to visit afterwards. The recovery would be slow and Erica found it still so heartbreaking to think about when she caught reports on the TV, which she tried to avoid. She and Stuart had talked about doing a road trip to one of the affected areas but had run out of time. Maybe one day she’d have the funds and feel strong enough to face going …
All too heavy for a Thursday, she told herself as she waited for the bus’s doors to open.
At least she had a job she enjoyed if not loved. And she’d got herself to leave the house to go to said job.
‘Good morning,’ she said brightly to the driver, bestowing a beaming smile she knew didn’t go beyond the corners of her mouth. Instead of going up to the aisle to her usual spot, Erica found herself sitting down on the first seat beyond those reserved for the mobility challenged. She couldn’t have told anyone why, except perhaps just not finding the energy or inclination to take the additional steps.
She pulled out her phone and scrolled through the girls’ online posts and photos. There were lots of selfies of them in front of beautiful Italian stone buildings, at outdoor café tables, a couple with a walking tour group and a series of rural and urban scenery from inside a train. God, she missed them. But by all accounts, they were having fun and were staying safe, happy and healthy. That’s all she could hope for them, really.
She pushed back the twinge of longing to be with them or just somewhere else. But where? Doing what? And then she almost snorted aloud at the thought – only just stopped herself in time – that came into her head: If I could be anywhere else right now, I’d be at home. Not gallivanting around the world or sitting on a sunny beach somewhere warm with calm turquoise water, but swaddled back in her own home with Stuart beside her. The thought caused a vice-like grip on the insides of her stomach, squeezing slowly. Tighter and tighter until she had to hold her breath to stop it. Sometimes it dragged her back to before Stuart had died – like now – and even before that, before he was sick or after a bout. Sometimes lying in bed she still had fleeting thoughts – daydreams, maybe – that he was just in the kitchen or in the walk-in robe or en suite and would be in in a minute. Sometimes, even in bright daylight, when she knew she was wide awake, the thoughts were so strong she would have sworn in a court of law that she’d actually heard him moving around. And then when she realised, yet again, that he wasn’t coming back – ever – she was always astounded by the ferocity of the sorrow. Even after several months it had the capacity to stop her in her tracks. Though, she did think it was becoming easier and quicker to pick herself up and return to the equilibrium she’d had just prior. Just how long would it take to be able to remember wistfully and not experience the jagged pain? Would she ever arrive at that point? If so, when? The questions swirled around inside her, popping up regularly as if on a loop. Was it a test of her progress? Of her strength? A part of her was envious of her parents having their memories seemingly wiped altogether. Perhaps that was really how time healed all wounds – they weren’t in fact healed at all, but wiped, and in doing so your faculties shut down. Or that part came later.
Erica sighed with a mixture of exasperation at the world for its cruelty and herself for going there again. Oh how she longed to have been closer in age to her brother Mark so she might have prevented the accident and – just her theory; she had no scientific proof – the insidious disease that had eaten up one of her parents and was consuming the second. Self-pity stabbed her in the chest, under the ribs in her heart, her lungs, her neck. All over. I need you guys. I need your wisdom. Because they both – at least as far as their capacity to help was concerned – were as good as gone.
Suddenly she was reminded of a conversation with her mother – a pep talk, really – when she’d been lamenting her lack of sleep and how distraught Mackenzie had been with that first grazed knee and Erica’s helplessness in not being able to prevent it or take the pain away. The little face with its quivering lip and stream of tears came to her again now. And instead of making her sadder, it made her smile. Such a tiny incident that had seemed like the end of the world to them both in that moment. And then her mother’s gentle laugh and generous smile. ‘Oh darling,’ she’d said, ‘this is nothing. Better buckle up and get used to feeling helpless and clueless – it never goes away. Well, hasn’t for me yet. You will never stop worrying or caring or feeling your child’s pain. You will be a mum until the day you die. Treat it as a privilege – not a burden – because many are not so blessed as you or I.’
As she got off the bus Erica wondered if with what she now knew – of how heartbreaking but wonderful it all was – she’d still have gone down the path of having kids. Of course she would have. Even if only because Stuart had been the driving force.
That thought brought her up short.
‘No, no, I’m sorry, that was my fault,’ she said as the person behind bumped into her and then another pushed past, belting her with their briefcas
e or backpack. She was too distracted to notice. Of course she’d wanted kids. She had, hadn’t she?
Probably.
As she slowly walked towards work, Erica had the strangest sensation of realising something for the first time – another piece of the puzzle of life – as Renee put it – slotting into place. Her face fell.
No, I’m being silly and woe-is-me, she thought. It was not a plan by Stuart to keep me from pursuing my dream. But the thought stayed tucked inside her, like a pebble, jiggling around as she walked, reminding her. No, Stuart loved me. He’d have supported me in anything I wanted to pursue, wouldn’t he? We were a team – a great team. And then: So why did he lie? And there she was again. The lack of answers was frustrating and the knowledge she’d never know, because he was dead, infuriated her. Erica had heard along the way that some people thought cancer was caused by a festering inside, the keeping of secrets, constant worry, not dealing with things. Now she could see there might be something in that.
Anyway, I have my gorgeous girls whom I love with my whole being. I could never regret having them. It was totally worth it. And I’m a good mum.
***
Erica was just finishing off taking the payment from a walk-in client who’d had their makeup done for a job interview, when she was startled and a little disconcerted to find her two big bosses – Jill and Perry White, the husband and wife who owned JPW Cosmetics – standing in front of her.
‘Hello,’ she said brightly. ‘What a lovely surprise.’ Or not, she added to herself as she fully absorbed the grimness of their expressions. Hang on, no: not grimness. Well, yes, but sadness, too. Erica thought she recognised the taut, tired expression, red eyes and barely visible different hue down each of Jill’s cheeks from looking in her own mirror. And the slight wobble of the chin that occurred when you let your guard slip and then struggled to regain control of … Oh god, what’s happened? She wanted to reach out and gather the woman to her and hold her tight, but was brought back suddenly by Perry speaking.
‘Hi, Erica. Can you please come with us? We need a word,’ he said.
‘Oh. Okay,’ she said, dragging her gaze from Perry’s gaunt face to look about her and try to make her brain figure out what she needed to do. It’s just like popping off to the loo or out to lunch, she told herself, having finally reeled herself back in. As she looked up to catch a colleague’s eye, someone to watch her counter, the floor manager, Tara, appeared and said, ‘It’s okay; Alistair is coming over.’ Erica was further disconcerted by her unusually quiet and gentle tone.
‘Oh. Right.’
‘We’ve booked the meeting room upstairs,’ Perry said, standing aside so Erica could come out from behind the counter. She hesitated, remembering her handbag locked in her drawer, but Jill and Perry’s visible urgency saw her nod and comply. They were originally from Adelaide and this had been their first store. But while they might still have a house here, and family, they tended to spend more time on the east coast – living between Sydney and Byron Bay – where most of their other stores were. They only tended to come in a few times a year and Erica liked that they trusted her enough to not micro-manage her and the other JPW counter staff. As she and Tara walked behind them Erica’s brain busied itself with trying to remember when they’d visited last. And then before she knew it, they’d exited the lift on the level containing the store’s administration and Perry was standing back holding the door open and Erica and Tara were following Jill in.
Jill and Perry were both quite serious people ordinarily. Not unfriendly, just not effusively cheerful. Focussed. Driven. Business-like.
She remembered the gorgeous floral arrangement they’d sent to the house after the funeral and their assurance that she could take all the time she needed before coming back to work. She’d been grateful, until she’d realised that they meant she’d only be paid until her leave ran out. It was fair enough, but it had stung at the time. Though having work to get back to had been a great healer, she thought. Or if not a healer, it at least went some way towards keeping her distracted and somewhat grounded while she tried to get to grips with her new out of kilter circumstances and life.
They each pulled out a chair and sat down around the dated black woodgrain-laminated table. Erica glanced at them. Running a business with retail stores dotted around the country while trying to get a foot in overseas markets would be exhausting and cause plenty of worry lines. Erica clasped her hands on the table in front of her and looked expectantly at them in an effort to appear receptive and supportive of whatever news they’d brought. They’d never asked her opinion on new lines or shades, but perhaps they’d finally seen her worth in that area too, in addition to her being a committed and loyal employee.
‘We’re really sorry, Erica, but I’m afraid we have to terminate your employment,’ Perry said. Erica watched, trying to comprehend his words – had she heard incorrectly? – as he ran a hand down his tie, just as Stuart had when he had something unpleasant to say. Was this what men were taught in their MBA studies? Her mouth became stuck in the open position on the ‘oh’ jammed in the top of her throat. She swallowed.
‘I’m afraid we’ve put the company into voluntary administration,’ Perry continued. ‘We’re having to close all the stores and counters for now and sell all the stock online. We’re not sure if we’ll find a buyer yet …’
‘Perhaps one day we can reopen Jill said, ending with a helpless shrug. Erica glanced at her and looked away, recognising the pain in her eyes. She stared at Jill’s hands, which she now began to wring, twirling a ring with a huge round solitaire diamond standing high above a plain band.
‘Oh no. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?’ Erica said after clearing her throat and finally getting control of her voice. Still it was a croak. Like what? Stupid thing to say. She longed to jump up and give each of them a hug.
‘We really value your contribution, Erica, and for being an important part of the JPW family and our journey,’ Perry said, as if remembering his rehearsed script. ‘And we’re really sorry to be doing this to you, especially on top of all you’ve had to deal with recently.’
Erica nodded, though her mind was spinning erratically and little of what he’d said had really penetrated.
And then in the silence her foggy brain started to clear and the facts began to slot into some sort of logical order and make sense. Hang on, no one died? I’ve lost my job? You’ve lost me my job by fucking up? And all I’ve ‘had to deal with’? Oh, you two have no fucking idea what I’m going through! The anger behind her eyes burnt and she had to grip the chair beneath her so she didn’t get up and shout out these words while banging out each syllable on the table with both fists. A strange calm swept through her. She took several deep breaths.
‘Right. How bad is it – for me? Will my entitlements be paid in full – my superannuation and my final pay?’
‘Oh yes,’ Jill said. ‘Everything is up to date. Honestly, Erica, we haven’t done the wrong thing. We never would.’
Yeah, I once would have thought that about my husband, but here we are.
Perry looked awkward. ‘The only payment that might be problematic is your remaining long service leave. We’re hoping it will be paid in full …’
‘Pardon? You’re fucking hoping? Sorry,’ she said in the next beat, but then cursed her – and most women’s, really – conditioning to not make a scene or be rude.
‘It’s fine. We understand you’re upset, Erica,’ Jill said.
You don’t have a fucking clue. But instead Erica said, ‘Do I have to put in a claim to the administrators, or sue you, or something to make sure I get everything?’
‘No, you should receive everything in your final pay packet. We haven’t gone into liquidation and we’re hoping it won’t come to that. If that occurs, you can put a claim in via the government Fair Entitlements Guarantee.’
‘Yes. I’ve put their web details in here, just in case, along with a written reference,’ Jill said, sliding a white
business-sized envelope across the table.
‘And, of course, we’ll both be referees for you. For what it’s worth,’ Perry added sadly.
Erica nodded. ‘Thanks. I appreciate that.’ They all stood up, but Perry and Jill remained at the table and Tara held her arm out to indicate Erica was to leave, which she did.
‘Thanks for everything, Erica. All the best.’
‘Good luck to you both too,’ Erica said, and made her way out and over to the lift. Tara followed silently, remaining half a step behind Erica.
Chapter Eleven
Fog swept back into Erica’s mind, but somehow she pressed the button – or perhaps Tara had reached past her, she wasn’t sure of anything – and then they both left the lift on the ground floor and made their way across to her counter – well, her former counter. As she looked around at the sea of concerned faces etched with pity – those who hadn’t offered grim smiles before quickly looking away. And somehow she ducked down, got the key into the lock on the drawer, retrieved her handbag and extracted a spare carry bag she kept there for no particular reason, carefully packed up her things – makeup, World’s Best Mum mug. As Erica stood back up and looked around, without really seeing, to check if she’d missed anything, Tara moved forwards.
‘I’ll put the stock away when you’ve gone, but, sorry, I have to take your key and pass,’ she prompted quietly.
Erica nodded. ‘Oh. Yes. Sorry,’ she said, dragging her lanyard with attached security access card and keys to the counter drawers and cupboards over her head and handing it over. She was surprised by her composure. She was vague but still functioning – almost like being out of body and watching from afar. Her fingers weren’t even shaking.
‘All the best, Erica,’ Tara said. And then Erica was surprised to find herself being pulled into an embrace: brief, but affectionate nonetheless. ‘If anything opens up here, I’ll be sure to let you know,’ she said, releasing her.
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