‘Did you ever have an affair?’
‘No. I never even got close. There were women I thought were good sorts back when the kids were little and you were totally focused on them. Fantasised about them, I guess. Maybe in another world, if things were going wrong for us, I might have made a mistake. But not in this life.’ He said this with a dreamy pleasure, secure in the knowledge that he had nothing to confess.
‘I kissed Peter Loman behind the house at that huge Christmas party they had.’
‘You what?’
‘Kissed him. A real kiss. I wanted to. He didn’t force me or anything.’ She didn’t know why she had the need to tell him this.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Dimple stopped in the middle of the pavement and looked at her. ‘While I was in the party? You were kissing that self-important dickhead? And you never told me? Not until now?’
‘Sorry.’ She looked at him. His face looked like it might burst.
‘Sorry? Fuck!’
‘It was just a kiss.’
‘Just? It’s never just an anything. It’s not what you did — it’s the fact you did it.’
‘I’m still here, aren’t I?’
‘Fucken hell. Makes me look like an idiot. My wife’s out the back of the party having it away with another bloke, and I’m off drinking with the boys. I would never have guessed. Couldn’t imagine you were capable of that level of betrayal.’
‘Oh, Dimple. Come on. I was young. I was lonely, and I kissed a guy. Not good, but not the worst thing in the world.’
He looked at her carefully, and the fire went out of his indignation. ‘I guess not. You never know, I might have been promiscuous if I’d known.’
‘Would you?’
He walked forward and she joined him, taking his hand again.
‘No.’
‘I had to do it. You were so caught up in yourself and the farm and the big future you were working on. I felt like I didn’t exist. I was ashamed afterwards, but it did the trick. I knew I existed after that.’
‘I’ll punch him in the face next time I see him.’
‘For something that happened twenty years ago?’
‘Yes. And for making a fool of me. I don’t imagine his wife ever kisses him. Too worried about her make-up or whatever.’
‘There’s no need to be childish about it.’
‘Geez, you play hard sometimes. You just told me you’ve been unfaithful, and now you’re accusing me of being childish.’
‘I am. It was a small thing a long time ago. Nothing more ever came of it.’
Dimple was slapping his boots loudly on the concrete as if he really were a disappointed child.
‘Bullshit. After something like that with an attractive woman, most blokes would have a second crack. They couldn’t resist. Even if it was only when they were pissed. I bet he at least squeezed your bum at a party some time. Did he?’
‘No. I was never alone with him again. I made sure of that. And he didn’t pursue me.’
An older man, bent and pale, his hair thin, his skin empty of pigment, shuffled past in the opposite direction and smiled at them. ‘Don’t give up on each other,’ he said in a weak voice. ‘You’ll regret it.’
When the man was gone, they burst out laughing.
‘I’m not giving up on you,’ Dimple said when he’d collected himself.
‘Nor me on you.’
They passed the newsagent again, this time without noticing.
‘Well, if we’re going to confess … I once wrote an email to Ellie Graham, years ago, before she was married, telling her she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. You were away, and I was really drunk. As soon as I sent it, I panicked and tried to work out how I could get it back. In my state, I was sure there was a way. I spent half the night, and couldn’t figure out how to do it.’
‘Ellie? She was so pretty back then.’
‘In the morning, I rang her and apologised. She just laughed at me. Are you surprised?’
‘I remember you used to flirt with her. I wondered if you’d cross the line. I never thought you’d write something down. I would have been very upset back then if I’d found out.’
‘And now?’
‘Intrigued, really. Why you would reach out to someone like that who would never have gone anywhere near you, whether you were married or not.’
‘She might have. You said we flirted.’
‘You were nothing like her type. Look at her husband — slim, tall, fastidious, and positively dapper. He’s a control freak, with a spreadsheet for everything. I don’t see you in that frame.’
‘I could have been, but you made me messy.’
They had arrived at the front of the pub and its large timber-and-glass doors. ‘Time for that drink, and no more confessions,’ Dimple said, pushing the door open for her.
‘Are there more?’ she asked, tilting her head at him.
‘Not from me. And I’m not listening to any from you.’
The main bar was still empty as Ruthie took a seat at a small round table in the dining section, which was an extension of the general bar area. The guy behind the bar remembered Dimple, poured the drinks quickly, and suggested they order early before the mob got hungry.
Dimple and Ruthie sat in the quiet, appreciating the chance to have a drink and a meal without cooking or washing up, or having to think about all the things that needed doing in the morning. They chose meals from the plastic-coated menus, and watched as the young people began to arrive. The noise level lifted slowly. There were more men than women in the crowd.
‘At least there are girls,’ Dimple said, turning his chair so he could watch. ‘It’s always hard to get girls.’
‘Neither the girls nor the boys seem too up themselves,’ Ruthie said. ‘Same as anywhere else, really.’
‘We can’t really hear what they’re talking about. They might be telling each other how terrifically wealthy they are and are going to be.’
‘I think J would fit in easily. And Finnie, too, if he felt like it.’
Their meals were served, and they ate slowly, without conversation. The noise from the bar crowd prevented it, and neither of them minded.
Once the cancer enters the lymphatic system, it can and usually does spread to other areas of the body.
A middle-aged woman came out of the crowd towards them. Ruthie noted that she walked with a confidence that Ruthie didn’t remember the woman having. She’d lost weight, and appeared to have made more of an effort with her clothing. At least in this one example.
She stood. ‘Jilly!’
‘Ruthie! Dimple.’ She kissed them both on the cheek. ‘Sorry I’m late. I got caught up, and I’m supposed to be going out for dinner. I can only stay a minute, but I didn’t want to miss you. And your meal’s here. Please eat. Don’t let me ruin it.’
The women sat, and Dimple said, ‘Let me get you a drink.’
‘No. I can get my own drink. You eat.’
‘It won’t take me a sec.’
‘All right, then. G&T. Thanks.’
Dimple went to the bar, and the women began the process of catching up. Ruthie told her about the boys and their jobs, and how happy and well adjusted they were.
‘So Finnie’s going okay?’
‘Yes. We had a tough time, but we’re through that and we’re as strong as ever.’
‘You had an inkling, didn’t you? I remember that.’
‘I did, but I didn’t think I shared it with anyone.’
‘You didn’t, but I remember the way you looked at him — as if there was something you couldn’t quite work out.’
‘He would hate to hear that. He’s adamant there’s nothing out of the ordinary about him.’
‘I guess there isn’t.’
Jilly told her about her three daughters, their im
pressive boyfriends, and their extensive travels.
‘They’re the love of our lives, our kids, aren’t they?’ Jilly observed.
When Dimple returned, Ruthie asked, ‘How’s Greg?’ It seemed rude not to ask after him, no matter what had happened.
‘He’s good, I think. But I haven’t seen him for a few months.’
‘Oh.’
‘Yeah. We couldn’t go the distance. We spent a lot of time and energy trying to. For the kids, you know, and for us.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’
‘Don’t be. It was for the best. We got out with a bit of cash, at least. If we’d have hung on, somehow, until now, we would never have survived this drought. Would have lost everything.’ He made a cough that might have been a laugh. ‘But we couldn’t make the farm work. Too many hard years. Always problems with money. It was tough, really tough.’ She paused, perhaps gauging whether she should go on. ‘Anyway, we blamed each other for everything, and fought until we couldn’t even be in the same room. So we sold the farm and gave each other a chance. He’s in the city, now, believe it or not. I think he’s happy. I’d like him to be happy. We’re sort of friends these days.’ Jilly took in a big breath and looked up at them with an expression that asked forgiveness for offering such a lump of bad news and emotion so easily.
‘That sounds rough. You seem okay, though.’
Jilly sat up straight and smiled. ‘Oh, but I am. Actually, I cannot believe how happy I am. I have lots of friends. I own a nice little place in Burraga, but I spend plenty of time in the city. I’ve got a thriving handmade jewellery business, most of it online. But I do a lot of presentations to city women. And the freedom! My God, the freedom. No one to look after. Come and go as I please. Spend time on the things that interest me.’
Ruthie believed her. It did not look like an act put on specially to convince old friends or herself. And there was something about Jilly that she couldn’t quite describe. Vivaciousness? Maybe. Pleased with herself, more accurately. But in a good way. Ruthie had friends who were gradually sinking back into the comfort of being ‘Mum’: the go-to person for love and support who chose their language and their clothes to fit in with that role. The pleasures of grandparenting beckoned. Jilly was not that kind of person. She looked ready for any challenge, any experience. Ruthie felt jealousy like an enemy in the base of her stomach.
‘We might have some trouble getting to sleep,’ Dimple said, nodding towards the crowd when he’d finished eating.
‘Because we’re fuddy-duddies.’ Ruthie dabbed her mouth with a paper serviette.
‘Only a fuddy-duddy would even know that expression. What’s it like to live in Burraga, Jilly?’
‘It’s nice. It’s quiet, and people don’t bother me. I get to do all the interesting things in the city and see my friends, and then I come home for some peace, and bury myself in doing my orders.’
‘You make the jewellery?’ Ruthie wondered when Jilly had become creative.
‘I do. I use polished stones that I find around here as the centrepiece, and then I set them in silver. But I get a bit of help with that sometimes.’
‘Wow,’ Ruthie said. ‘I am so impressed.’ And she was.
They talked a while longer. Jilly asked them what had brought them to Burraga, and enquired about mutual friends. Then she checked her phone and got up abruptly to leave. ‘So good to see you both, but now I’m really late, and if I don’t go I’ll be in huge trouble.’
She kissed them and walked away smartly, offering a last, flicking wave.
‘Nice to see her in such good form,’ Ruthie said to the back of the disappearing figure.
‘She’s looking good, isn’t she?’
‘Yes. But she’s different.’
Dimple looked to where Jilly had disappeared, aware that he had probably missed something.
‘So full of life, or something. Didn’t you think?’ Ruthie peered across at him.
‘I guess so. The result of being single?’
‘That, and losing the burden of the farm. And it must be exhausting fighting in a marriage all the time.’
‘She’d be lonely, though. Living in Burraga on her own. The nights would be pretty quiet, I reckon.’
‘She doesn’t sound lonely.’
‘You want another drink?’
‘Please. After that, I think I’ll go upstairs and read my book.’
Leaning on the bar, Dimple could just hear the TV that was anchored high on the wall. A politician was complaining that the government had done nothing about corruption in a water-sharing plan, despite many reported instances. He focused on the group of young people at the other end of the bar. They looked like there was nothing in the world that was worth worrying about. He knew all young people in groups could look like that. But these were in the middle of nowhere in a record-breaking drought, faced by a future that might be like nothing anyone had ever seen. It was wasted on the young.
‘Good to blow off steam,’ he said to the barman, who was walking quickly towards him after getting a break in the orders from the other end.
‘Yeah. Same again?’
‘Sure. Nice group?’
The barman shrugged. ‘Rich kids, you know.’
‘No, I don’t.’
‘Well, they’re nice until it doesn’t suit them.’ He put the drinks on the bar and took Dimple’s credit card.
‘They get nasty?’
‘Nah. They just do what they want. Whether you like it or not. But they always pay for the damage they cause. Someone picks up the tab for them.’ He returned the card. ‘Thanks. Won’t be any trouble tonight, though. They’ll finish up early because they’re all flat out sowing their irrigated country.’ The barman strode back to the drinkers who were hanging over the bar, waiting to be served.
‘I was beginning to think you’d forgotten I was here,’ she said as he put her drink on the table.
‘He’s too busy trying to keep up with that lot.’
‘Finnie says have a beer for him.’ Ruthie waved her phone at him.
‘Cheers, Finnie.’ He lifted the beer glass to his lips and took a long, self-satisfied drink.
‘Do you remember him as a baby? He was so long. I thought he was going to end up two metres tall.’
Dimple just smiled at her and let her enjoy her recollection. It wasn’t something she normally indulged in. In fact, he knew she disliked reminiscing and indulging in nostalgia. She thought they were dopey practices that glorified the less than glorious.
They lay side by side in the bed, Ruthie with her glasses on, supported by extra pillows she’d found in the cupboard. Dimple sat with his head against the hard headboard, his eyes shut.
‘You’re not going to die, you know. Not in the near future, anyway.’
‘I know.’
‘So why all the memories and confessions?’
She put the book down and took off her glasses. ‘You know what you said about don’t I ever get sick of being a good woman? I don’t know what a good woman is, but I might be sick of it. The prognosis has made me think. About the future. I’ve decided I need to make sure I’m in the right place with the right person.’ She gulped, unaware her explanation would bring up such emotion. ‘It dawned on me that I need to be where I really want to be, doing what I really want to do. I know it sounds spoilt, but I’ve been telling myself if I want to live a different life, even if it’s that silly coffee-and-friends life in town, then I’d better go and find it.’
‘I was kidding about that.’
‘I’m not.’ She closed her eyes and put her hand over her mouth. She took the hand away and said, ‘I’m worried about what’s going to happen — to me, to you, to our lives.’
‘That’s understandable.’
‘Don’t patronise, please. I love you, and I think you love me, but sometimes I’m not co
nvinced you need me.’
‘Where did this come from? I definitely need you. Never a question. I know it’s a very difficult time, but you’ve always been so content on the farm. I’ve never heard you say you wanted to be anywhere else. Not for any length of time, anyway. You love your garden, the animals, the look of our place, the community, our friends. Now suddenly you sound like you want to leave it all behind.’
‘You’ve got the farm and your mates. You’d survive just fine if I left.’
He turned on his side to her and suddenly realised that her reason for insisting on this trip might have been simply to allow herself room to say goodbye to him. ‘No. I. Need. You. I really need you.’
‘Come on, Dimple. Let’s not gild this. We’re good friends. We’ve battled through a lot together. Survived a lot. We’ve got history. That doesn’t mean we have to have a future. We might live another thirty years. What if there’s more out there for both of us?’
He could feel himself shaking. He had never thought about this. He understood the practical possibility, but was incapable of thinking it genuine.
‘I understand what you’re saying, but I think you’ve got it the wrong way around. This is the good time, the payoff of, you know — companionship, partnership … love.’
‘Makes it sound like we’re already in the nursing home. It’s a pretty limp version of living, isn’t it? I just feel like I’ve been given a gift, and all I’ve done is open it.’
He was telling himself that this was just a momentary panic that would pass once she had the treatment. But he didn’t believe himself.
‘So you want to go skydiving, camping in the red centre, taking lovers?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Oh.’ He lay on his back and looked up at the beige ceiling. She was asking for things he couldn’t provide. She could take her share of the farm and do what she wanted to do, but it wouldn’t include him.
‘A couple of decades together gone, just like that?’ He clicked his fingers.
She put a hand on his shoulder. ‘Probably not. But there’s got to be something better than just “getting through”.’
He had used the phrase himself over dinner with Ruthie or out with friends, charged up by too many drinks, but he had never meant it. He didn’t know he had not meant it, until now. When Ruthie said things like this, she turned abstract flights of fancy into real, scary things. Before now, he would have refused to take her seriously; hugged her and told her to stop going on about nothing. Not now.
Small Mercies Page 7