I stand holding the letter in my hand, multiple thoughts run through my head. Did Mum forget to take the letter she wrote, or was this letter a draft because it was crumpled? Am I doing the right thing, handing this letter to a stranger? It’s a letter that could be evidence of a crime. Mum will go to the place I just spent a year in. I am exaggerating, Mum didn’t mention murder in the letter, but isn’t that what a person could do if they say they have nothing to lose? Beth stops smiling, and her gum is covered again when she notices my hand is shaking.
“Beth, you said Mum was going to confront someone, a lady, with the photos she asked you to print. Did she tell you where she was going?”
I hand her the letter. I watch her read it and she exhales when she finishes.
“To be honest, I feel quite bad, Amy. I thought Jean was just bluffing when she told me she was going to blackmail someone with the photos. Firstly, I found it quite entertaining, the passion that your mum has to have a better life, but secondly I must confess that I know the woman your mum is targeting. She is the wife of Evan Maskings, the director at the Glassport Recycling Plant, where I work.”
Beth pauses and watches my reaction. I nod for her to continue.
“I had an inkling who your mum’s revenge mission was against, when she saw a photo of Evan and Carlana in a newsletter I had from work. She then immediately told me a story about a neighbour she used to have that did her wrong. When I saw the photos your mum got me to print today, I was even more sure it was Carlana. I didn’t want to tell your mum I knew Carlana, because I didn’t want to get involved, it could cost me my job. But I should have stopped her.” Beth looks genuinely upset. I want her to know she shouldn’t feel bad. Bloody Mum.
“No, there is no stopping my mum, she can leave a trail of mayhem,” I say, hoping that will make her feel better.
Beth looks over the letter again, I presume that she is re-reading it. Her furrowed brow indicates she wishes Mum hadn’t asked her to print the photos, and that I hadn’t come here to show her the letter. She is involved now, even though she doesn’t want to be.
“With a flick of my thumb I wish I could tell you where your mum is, but I don’t know. You should just wait for her to return,” she suggests.
I agree with Beth’s suggestion. While we wait, I wish that Beth and I could change into our bathing suits and go to the water park. This should not be my problem. I have been in jail too long. Now I’m out, all I crave is to enjoy my freedom, fresh air, nature and bodies. I could have all those pleasures if I had thrown this letter away. Now there won’t be any fulfilment of my needs.
“Here, you phone your mum, dial the last number that I dialled, if you don’t remember her number,” she says, holding out her phone to me. I listen to the dial tone and wait to hear Mum’s voice so I can tell her to stop whatever she is doing.
The phone rings, but she doesn’t answer. There is no voice mail. I imagine my ringing is the background sound to whatever she is doing. A chill runs down my spine, my eyes meet Beth’s, and I shake my head. The smell of wet paint mixes with my rising panic, but quickly disappears when my eyes meet Beth’s.
Beth notices and reaches her hand out to touch my shoulder.
“What exactly did Mum tell you before she left?” I ask.
“Look, what she told me was that the woman she was going to see is a wellness blogger, an expert in the field of that mindfulness and minimalism sort of thing. I knew that already, I have seen Carlana at the plant one or two times with Evan. She never looks happy. Whenever I see her, I think maybe the absence of things doesn’t bring you happiness after all. She should be happy, though, being in that industry is like riding the gravy train.” Beth waves her hand in exasperation.
I know what she means, mindfulness and minimalism. Anyone that thinks they need to learn how to be mindful and minimalistic should spend a year in jail. All the time you need, to consider and contemplate life, without owning any possessions.
“I have an idea, hand me my phone,” Beth says. I had forgotten I was holding it.
“It may be that your mum needs to face that woman so she can move on. I don’t think your mum would hurt anyone, she is much too kind and gentle. Honestly, if you saw those photos we printed, you would understand why that woman deserves to suffer. But I am going to do this as a precaution. I hope that your mum doesn’t get too angry at me for this.”
I touch Beth’s hand as I pass her the phone and I want to find an excuse to do it again.
“What I will do is send Evan a photo I have of your mum, through an Instagram message. I know that he manages Carlana’s Instagram account, I know that useful detail because I am friends with his personal assistant, Melissa.”
I observe Beth as she breaks off talking and taps her chin, then moves her finger to her brow. I am flattered that she is doing all this thinking for me.
“It would all be much simpler if I could just ask Melissa for Evan’s home address, then you could go to Evan’s house right away, but I can’t ask her. I have no good reason to need it,” Beth looks into the distance as she mulls things over and I take the chance to look at the few freckles that are speckled over her porcelain skin. When she looks back at me, I refocus on her green eyes.
“I could also try to get Evan’s number and text him, but then he will know it’s me, and I’d probably be fired. My idea of sending the Instagram message is that if your mum approaches them, they will contact us and we can talk some sense into her. Do you want me to send the message?” she asks.
“Yes, shoot it off it, but what if Mum is in the midst of harming someone, or worse still, what if she has hurt them already?” I ask.
“Honestly, I don’t know precisely what your mum’s plan is or was, she was sketchy on the details. But there is no alternative way you can get to her now, other than calling the police, which is fine if you choose to do that. But think of the trouble your mum will be in for blackmailing, if you have to show them this letter as a way of explaining to them why you are looking for your mother, who has only been gone for half a day,” Beth explains.
“What will you write to make them contact us? Plus, what are the chances of them seeing your message?” I am hoping that I don’t sound like I don’t trust her plan, but in jail we weren’t allowed to use any form of devices, communication was only with the person standing next to you, or via a weekly phone call.
“There are no guarantees that our message will receive a response, but we can either do this, or nothing at all. What we want to achieve is to get your mum’s location, and that is all we can hope for,” she says, sounding slightly annoyed, and I resolve to not ask any further doubting questions.
“Now let me see which is the best photo I have of your mum, I took a few last week down there next to the pool,” Beth says, looking up from scrolling on her phone and pointing to a dried palm tree on a patch of dirt next to a round pool not secured by a fence.
She looks back down at the phone and clearly accents each word as she types:
‘Alert to the Mindfulness Community:
Dear Evan and Carlana;
I have to warn all in the wellness industry that the woman pictured here is a blogger who has unsuccessfully tried to start her own wellness business without a permit. She is looking for a similar company to steal secrets from, or sabotage. I have reason to believe she may be targeting yourself and Carlana specifically. If you should come across this woman, make sure you do anything you can not to interact with her, she may try to blackmail you. This is not a police matter as she is not at all dangerous, but interacting with her could cost you your business. If you have seen her today or if she is with you at the moment, please let us know, so we can come and get her.’
I listen to Beth as she vocalises the words she is typing. I wonder how this will help these people, that Mum may be intent on hurting, to protect themselves. At the same time, I marvel about how smart she is to come up with such a clever idea to locate Mum.
“Done,” Beth says,
halting my thoughts, extending her arm to show me her Instagram account, which displays a photo of my mum, sitting on a lounge chair holding a can of soft drink, in exactly the spot Beth had pointed to.
“All we can do now is wait,” she reaches out to touch my arm. I think Beth sees my hesitation, she is so understanding to explain the plan to me clearly.
“Trust me, doing this is much easier than trying to track your mum down any other way. It may mean that when she finally returns, she might be angry that I’ve sent her photo out or made it difficult for her to execute her plan, but so be it. At least we tried to save your mum from making a mistake,” she exhales, and we both stand in quietness.
“Where could she be, where could she be now?” I mutter the question to fill up the bare space between us. Honestly, though, I really have had enough of this. I have done all I could to find Mum at the moment. Now I can take a break and think about something else more pleasant.
“I noticed your Instagram profile has a lot of plant photos on there,” I say nodding at the phone.
“Yeah, I am studying horticulture at uni, I am at the end of my last year which I am thrilled about. I can graduate soon. I will finally be able to quit my evening shifts at the recycling plant, and I will get my nights back. Speaking of which, I had better finish painting this room. I will come next door and get you if anyone responds to the message I’ve sent out into the wellness universe.”
The cat that has been roaming calmly amongst our legs suddenly shoots past my feet and paws at Beth’s leg, it stares at me and triggers emotions that need little fodder to be fuelled.
I feel my stomach start to tighten into a ball. Something shoots itself through my body and bounces around until my body shakes. I put my face into my hands. Maybe the tears will come, perhaps they won’t. As my shoulders rattle, I feel a hand on my back.
“Oh, love, are you all right?” Beth asks.
I shake my head.
“Come inside, you can sit down in my bedroom, there is no furniture in this room, it’s like I am a minimalist,” Bath laughs.
She leads me towards her bedroom just as I had hoped.
Jean, 12:20PM
I notice every detail as I walk on the sidewalk next to a row of narrow terraced houses. I take in all the minute details, the long worm-like cracks in the pavement and the vines that strangle the native trees.
Am I being mindful already?
My plan has turned out better than I had expected and I didn’t need to use my gun. I have a job offer, I may finally be able to quit my job at the shoe store. Instead of turning right in the direction of the train station, I turn left onto a street lined with cafés. Before I go back home and tell Amy the good news about my potential new job, I will treat myself to a milky coffee in a café. I run my hand along a fine hedge that grows along the side of the path. I feel the glossy leaves. I stop to smell a white flower, its petal brushes my nose, and I want to giggle. It’s so enjoyable to experience life when you aren’t planning revenge or when you are not worried about financial stability.
I arrive at the corner of the street where the row of cafés begins. Which one looks like a café that a mindful person would choose? Do I make a choice by colour scheme, name? Or should I base my decision on if there are a lot of people seated at the tables?
The lemon-coloured décor draws me to one of the cafés, but would that meant that I am feeling bitter?
I take a step inside the café and I am greeted by the aroma of freshly brewed coffee. The waitress has long honey-blonde hair parted down the middle, I notice a freckle above her lip.
“Where would you like to sit, today?” The waitress asks.
“I will sit where can I see everything, thank you,” I reply.
“Certainly, then I suggest the seat next to the window. Follow me,” the waitress gestures and leads me to a table next to a window, that looks out onto the garden at the rear of the café.
I sit down and look out at the vegetable garden, displaying an assortment of tomatoes and herbs.
I wonder if, now that I am being mindful, I will have to cultivate my own garden. But where would I plant my tomatoes? Maybe outside in my apartment complex, next to the patch of dirt close to the swimming pool. The waitress stands above me, I think she may have been standing there for some time, and I didn’t notice. Oh, I am not very good at noticing things around me. How do I intend to carry out this job if I am not able to focus and pay attention?
“Miss, I asked if you were ready to place your order?” she asks.
“Yes, I am, sorry,” I say.
What do mindful people drink? My mind races to match a drink with mindfulness. I do crave a strong coffee. “Mint tea, please,” I say, looking at the menu, noticing that this particular tea costs five dollars. Damn, five dollars for some herbs and water.
“Anything to eat today?” the waitress asks.
“Not after this purchase,” I mutter to myself, but still remember to give the waitress an appreciative smile.
I take my phone out of my bag and place it on the table. I should reply to the call I received earlier from Beth, but using the phone at the table wouldn’t be very mindful. Well, that’s what Evan said. I give the phone a light tap and go back to observing my surroundings.
Evan, 12:45PM
I collect the bowls from the table and put them in the sink. We have both eaten another bowl of the delicious soup I made, in silence. Carlana sits at the table, and I will give her some idle time before I talk to her. I know that she needs to collect her thoughts and I respect that. I sit down at the table and wait for her to begin speaking. Our dining table is empty; there is nothing to distract my hands with.
I watch Carlana, and I can see her mind, the mind that I live for. She is plain gorgeous on the outside, but her mind is what directs our lives. The way she rebuilt her life after her breakdown, before I knew her, is a lesson everyone should take as an example.
“I was weak today, I allowed jealousy to take me over. Hazel had a nanny so I thought I needed one too. I haven’t felt that way in a long time, and I let it control my actions and decision-making. What’s your explanation for suddenly needing to employ someone?” she asks, but she doesn’t sound angry, the line sounds rehearsed. Mechanically, she snaps her eyes away from her hands. She had been holding them in fists on the table, pointing in my direction.
“I did it for you, like I always do. You have seemed so tense recently. We have spoken of needing an assistant. I have always been against it, because I didn’t want anyone to have access to our operations, but you must appreciate that I will do whatever you are happy with. Hire her, fire her, I don’t mind. Shall we make a list of pros and cons?”
Carlana’s face relaxes, and I know I am saying all the right things.
It was an insane idea, that is true, but the thought of hiring an assistant to help Carlana had formed a long time ago. It started with the question I asked myself – what I could do to connect with my wife once more?
I thought that delegating her work would take the pressure off her.
Her eyes are focused back on her hands, and again I will wait for her to reply.
“No, for once, your overbearing desire to help might be of benefit. The more I think about it, the more I like it. We will be going away soon so we won’t have to work directly with Jean,” Carlana pulls a face as if she had eaten something bitter.
“Let’s definitely hire her. I don’t even think you need to do a character reference with Hazel, she spoke very highly of her, trust me. There’s just one thing. Let me be the who trains her, all right?” she asks.
“Sure, you are the mastermind, teach her, but not too much though, all right?” I say.
“I am not your little dog that does things on your command, Evan,” she snaps. I notice her eyes widen after she has said this, as though she has stung herself with her own words.
I straighten my back in my chair, I want to reach out to her, but I resist. Then I extend my hand and touch her an
yway. Sometimes I feel that I may be hit by a strong current of electricity if I touch her at the wrong moment.
“Right then, do you want to do some meditation now?”
She shakes her head.
“No, actually, at the moment I need to do something mind-numbing. I am going to go to my room and scroll through Instagram.”
I try to hide my surprise, as she will be breaking her strict rule of not using social media between 12pm and 2pm.
“Good for you,” I say. “Do you want me to bring you your phone?”
“Yes please, it is in my bag,”
I take her phone out of her bag, and I notice it displays three missed calls.
“Someone has been trying to reach you,” I point out.
“Oh, that reminds me, it may be Bettina, Haydee’s mum. She called me earlier to ask if Maia can go home with them straight after school. She will pick up Maia from school then she will drop her off later this afternoon,” Carlana explains, taking the phone out of my hand and walking towards the back door. “I will call her now to make sure nothing has changed.”
I watch as she stands on the back deck with the phone to her ear, she almost blends into the earthy colours of our garden; it is immaculate but rich in a variety of trees and plants.
I notice that she is holding a piece of paper in her hand – the one that Jean wrote her number on.
I attempt to ask her casually about the letter as she steps back through the door.
“Why did you take that bit of paper outside?”
“Pardon, huh?” she replies looking down at the paper, like she has only just realised she was holding it. “Oh, this? I was just having a chuckle with Bettina, about this morning. Would you believe it was mufti day at school and I forgot about it? Well, this is the note about it. I was just telling Bettina I was so angry at myself that I forgot, while it’s written here in black and white.”
“See, you do need help,” I state. I change the subject to stop myself from remarking about how forgetful she is, that’s just the way she is and always has been, since I met her.
The Plastic Seed Page 10