She had messaged with Fitz on and off during the day. He was keen to see her and there was some merit in getting out of the house, but conjugating was the last thing on her mind right now. He could wait another day.
By contrast, next day the house was empty. The film crew, the fancy chairs, the equipment and Peter and Max had all gone. It was Sunday, but perhaps they were shooting elsewhere. In any case, it wasn’t her problem. All that remained was to pull up stray bits of gaffer tape off the floor and put the furniture back in place. It was a pleasure to stand out the front and see the lawn and garden so groomed, but sadly the pots of orchids had gone as well.
It was nice to have some quiet time to get her bearings and process the fact that some of the more difficult elements in her life had been eliminated. She was no longer Peter’s assistant – that was someone else’s job now – and he would not be hanging around the house annoying her every day. She no longer had to worry about Max. Involvement with this show was probably what he needed and could quite likely lead to other opportunities.
She called Elliot’s mobile and her tummy did an unexpected flip when he picked up. ‘Hey, Mum, welcome home! Sounds like you had a real adventure.’
They chatted for a few minutes, catching up, and then Rose said, ‘Look, darling, I need to talk to you about something … I don’t want to do it on the phone. Do you think we could meet sometime, this week? Just the two of us? It’s sort of personal …’ She could hear how tight and strained her voice sounded.
‘Sure, of course. Are you okay, Mum?’
‘Absolutely,’ she said in a wobbly voice that revealed the opposite.
There was a loaded silence and she knew he was going to ask what it was about.
‘It’s nothing terrible,’ she assured him. ‘I haven’t got cancer or anything …’
‘Is it about my father?’ he asked.
‘What? What do you mean? What are you talking about?’
‘Mum, you know what I’m talking about. Charlie.’
Rose was so shocked and confused she couldn’t think of how to respond. ‘I don’t understand …’ she said in a faint voice.
‘I’ve known for a while. Auntie Chris sent me an email a few months ago. It basically laid out all the evidence. She thought I had a right to know.’
Rose felt a fury rise in her. Bloody Chrissy and her poisonous emails! How she had guessed the truth, Rose had no idea since they had never discussed it. The woman was completely deranged. And didn’t even have the guts to actually speak to people.
‘She also said Nana was trying to poison Gramps, so I wasn’t sure what to believe,’ Elliot continued. ‘I asked Dad about it when we went to the cabin.’
‘What did Dad say?’ she asked breathlessly.
‘Just what happened. That you two had broken up and got back together. That he knew right from the start. And he was fine about it. He said you guys agreed to keep it to yourselves. I get that, Mum. I’m fine with it too. Max and I are brothers, but it explains why we’re so different.’
Rose perched on the edge of the sofa, hardly daring to breathe. It seemed impossible it could be this simple. But this was Elliot’s gift – he was pragmatic and fair-minded. He never, ever, felt sorry for himself.
‘Oh, darling, I’m so sorry. It’s just … there never seemed a right time to talk to you about it,’ said Rose, tearfully. ‘I just feel …’
‘Mum, don’t make it more difficult than it is. I have processed it. I’ve come to terms with it in my own mind. I didn’t want to talk to you until that was done. I asked Dad not to let on I knew. But I thought, since you’d gone on this soul-searching trip, you might want to talk about it when you got back.’
‘You’re the most emotionally orderly person I know, El. You didn’t get that from me. Or Charlie.’
Elliot laughed. ‘Yeah, well, I knew you were a bit wild back in the day, Mum, so it all worked out fine, as far as I’m concerned.’ He paused, and she heard the emotion in his voice as he said, ‘Dad said he was very proud to have me as a son.’
Rose was speechless. That seemed so unlike Peter. But then Peter had told a lie to exonerate her. Had he forgotten her deception? Of course not. He didn’t tell that lie for her, he did it for the greater good. He did it for them all. For the family.
‘So, Mum …’
‘Yes, my darling boy?’
‘Do you think Charlie would be interested in meeting me?’
‘I think he’d love to. I really do,’ said Rose, laughing and crying at the same time. ‘Just give me some time to break the news to him first.’
She knew there was one last thing she needed to tell him, and braced herself. ‘Elliot …’ She paused to get a grip on her emotions.
‘You okay, Mum?’
‘I want you to know that I loved Charlie, very much … I wish … we just couldn’t make things work. I’m sorry.’
Elliot was silent. She had no idea what he was thinking but had a terrible feeling he was crying. Finally, he cleared his throat and said softly, ‘Thanks, Mum.’
Overwhelmed, Rose changed the subject and they chatted for a few minutes about Austin’s progress, then he passed her over to Prya – something that had never happened before.
Rose was convinced that she was on one of Prya’s electronic lists as a recurring event: Elliot’s Mother. Scheduled and dealt with quickly and efficiently. But now Prya wanted to know how things had panned out in Corfu, and Rose babbled about the Beast and the Blue Moon and the Helipad, overwhelmed with relief and gratitude.
‘Oh, that sounds so much fun, Rose!’ said Prya, laughing. ‘I’m so jealous. I could never do anything like that. We’d like to come over next Sunday, if you’re around, and hear all about it. You’ll be able to see Austin walking. And we’ve got some news for you too.’
Rose could guess what that news would be. She knew the minute Austin was walking, they would have scheduled the next one. Even their reproductive organs were running at peak efficiency. She was touched by them wanting to tell her in person, not just over the phone. She invited them for lunch and made a note to pick up some French champagne.
She walked down to Glebe Point Road in a daze, going over and over this unexpected conversation with Elliot, unable to believe that the burden had been lifted from her. It would take some time to get used to, after weighing on her for so long.
She took a bus down to the retirement village to see her mother, a regular Sunday routine. It was difficult to catch the old girl on weekdays – she led a tireless social life and spent more time in the centre’s minibus, being ferried to various events, than in her unit.
The unit itself was a pleasant enough place. Given her mother’s garish taste, the neutral colour scheme, chosen by a professional, was a blessing. They settled down with a cup of tea, and the macaroons Rose had brought.
‘How’s Dad doing? Chrissy still making a pest of herself?’ Rose wondered if Chrissy had mentioned Charlie to their mother too, but she wasn’t going to be the one to bring it up.
‘He’s much the same. And I’ve barely heard from Chris. The dust had hardly settled on her divorce and she was on the internet hunting men. Anyway, she’s got a new bloke, a cop no less, and he’s keeping her busy. She’s calmed down a bit. So I’m free to poison your father if I want.’
‘She’ll probably get him to have you investigated.’
Her mother gave a dismissive grunt. ‘My conscience is clear. How did Peter and Max manage without you?’
Rose explained about the television show and her mother rocked with laughter. ‘He’s full of surprises, old Peter.’
‘So I’m discovering,’ said Rose.
Her mother gave her a shrewd look. ‘Did you make the decision to leave him while you were away?’
‘Why do you ask that? I’ve never said that!’
‘Come on, Rose. Wake up to yourself. He’s pretty bloody wearing.’
‘I thought you liked Peter.’
‘Of course I do, but I wouldn�
�t want to be married to him. Why not go off and do your own thing now? There’s nothing to hold you there any more, especially if he’s got a whole new career. Bloody hell, what more do you need?’
‘There’s my home of thirty-five years. My family. My husband. What kind of mother are you?’
Her mother took a second macaroon and bit into it. ‘An honest one.’
‘Now he’s not so dependent and won’t be around that much; we’ll be living separate lives, anyway …’
‘Rose, marriage is not supposed to be an endurance event. You’ve always wanted to be your own person. You never planned to get pregnant and married so young. This is your last chance. No good dipping your toe in a puddle. Throw yourself in the deep end. Get yourself a lover and a backpack. Go see the world.’
‘I’ve just got back from seeing the world!’ said Rose, feeling under pressure.
‘I’m pretty sure you missed a few bits. You’re still young; you can do anything you want. Take that voice of yours and do something with it. You don’t want to get to my age and kick yourself because you didn’t live the life you wanted.’
‘So, are you saying that you didn’t live the life you wanted?’
‘Of course not. But my generation didn’t expect that. I was good at science at school, I loved it – still do. I never miss The Science Show. Could I have had a career?’ She shrugged. ‘Bit late to worry about that now. I was a farmer and then a newsagent. They don’t write songs about newsagents, you know.’
‘Or scientists, for that matter,’ said Rose.
‘Are you kidding me? How about Coldplay?’
‘Coldplay? I had no idea you were a fan, Mum.’
‘Old people like Coldplay. That’s what killed them.’
The conversation was now going in two opposing directions.
Rose picked her preference. ‘Killed who, Mum?’ she asked, imagining some geriatric genocide she’d missed in the news.
‘Coldplay, obviously. Anyway, pretty much all songs are about science, because they’re about love. Falling in love and falling out of love. The latter being more interesting. Now’s your time, Rosie.’
Rose wanted to argue the point on Coldplay but didn’t know where to start and her mother seemed better informed on the topic. She watched her mother snaffle the last macaroon and tried to think of a response that didn’t require real commitment, so she wouldn’t be forced to follow through.
‘If you won’t do it for yourself, Rose, do it for me. Do it for Granny, who worked herself to death on that bloody farm. You got your beautiful voice from her and all she ever did was sing happy birthday now and then.’
As Rose was leaving, her mother said, ‘They were good times we had, singing in the car, weren’t they? I miss those days. They seemed like ordinary days at the time. You never know what your happiest moments will be until they’re long gone. Don’t wait any longer, Rose.’
On the bus back from the retirement village, Rose brimmed with emotion, misty-eyed at the reminder of her lovely Gran who spoke with a smoker’s croak in her last years.
She thought about what her mother had said. If she was careful, the money would be adequate once she and Peter sold the house and split their investments. She could get a flat in the area. The more she thought about it, the less enticing it seemed. Why put herself through all that separation would entail when her situation was really quite tolerable? She was simply being difficult and discontented.
She got off the bus on Glebe Point Road and walked down to Fitz’s place. When he opened the door, clearly delighted to see her, she burst into tears. He wrapped his arms around her, drew her inside and shut the door behind them as she sobbed on his chest.
‘Is it me?’ he asked, guiding her towards the kitchen. ‘Or is it you?’
‘Me,’ she said. ‘I’m completely lost.’
‘I have missed you,’ he said, kissing her while simultaneously removing her jacket. ‘I’ve had champagne on ice waiting for your return.’
‘Really?’ Rose asked tearfully. ‘That’s nice.’
He whipped open the fridge with a flourish, extracted a bottle of Veuve and two champagne glasses. He popped the cork, filled the glasses and proposed a toast to her return.
‘Now, tell me all about it, every little thing. Perhaps it will all start to make sense,’ he suggested cheerfully.
The trip felt like a crushing weight right now. She would tell him some other time, she promised. They chatted about the project he was working on, and she told him about Peter and Max.
Fitz topped up her glass. ‘You won’t have seen the papers, but there’s been a development with your bio project. Inge Bryant died a week ago, which is not good obviously, but … I don’t remember where you were up to with it?’
Rose shrugged miserably. She didn’t know either. She’d almost forgotten the project existed.
‘What is good, though,’ Fitz continued, ‘is there’s been quite a resurgence of interest in her work. Typical, isn’t it? You have to die to get the recognition you deserve. So it may be worth revisiting for you. It will be so much easier now she’s gone.’
It had been a mistake to come here right now. She was looking for an easy exit, for someone to take care of her so she didn’t have to be entirely responsible for herself. If she told him she was considering leaving Peter, he would assume it was for him.
It couldn’t be for him. It had to be for her.
She allowed him to unbutton her shirt, slip off her cargo pants and lead her to the bedroom. As they made love to ‘Highway to Hell’ (which had taken on a whole new meaning) she found herself having an out-of-body experience watching them, a couple of middle-aged people looking for some comfort in the world, some stay of execution on old age, some buffer from the indifference of the world. And she felt sad for them both. She was fond of Fitz, but she didn’t love him. If she left Peter for him, she would be sabotaging herself all over again. First, she had to experience being free.
Afterwards, they sat up in Fitz’s bed and finished their champagne and he said, ‘So, I get the feeling that I’m going to become a casualty of your existential crisis.’
‘What makes you say that?’ asked Rose.
‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ He sounded so hurt, she could barely muster a reply.
‘It’s not forever. I don’t want to swap horses mid-stream, I need to get off …’
‘You want to get into the stream? It could be cold and deep, and a little bit lonely.’
The champagne was making her feel emotional. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, so please don’t talk me out of it.’ She climbed out of bed and pulled her clothes on quickly, suddenly self-conscious. She went around to his side of the bed and sat down facing him. ‘I just need some space. And time to sort myself out and clear my head. Please.’
Fitz nodded. He put his arms around her, squeezed her tight and released her. She walked out the door without a backward glance and sobbed uncontrollably all the way to the bus stop.
It was just after five when she got home but the day was over. She showered, slipped into her pyjamas and crawled into bed. She felt ill with fear, magnified by the effects of the champagne. She lay awake for hours, tormented by the decision facing her.
Peter came home at some point and she pretended to be asleep. She drifted off and woke in the early hours. She put on her dressing-gown, went into the kitchen and made tea. She stood at the window and looked out into the garden. There was a bracing chill in the air and a bright moon that lit the garden with a silver fluorescence. The garden was wild and untamed, and she loved it that way. It was so hard to leave and so easy to stay.
She thought back over the last weeks and her mind had already mysteriously interwoven memories of the two trips, forty years apart. When she thought about them singing in the piazza in Bologna, swimming naked in Corfu, sleeping in the van, talking in the dark at the Helipad and singing at the Blue Moon – she could only picture their young selves. There was no sign of three women on the
other side of middle age. They had unwittingly shrugged off those perceptions and forgotten all constraints. She realised that the biggest resistance she had to starting a new life was the belief that she was too old to start afresh.
The truth was, she was too old to wait.
Imagining how her life could be, she experienced a sort of euphoria. She felt herself travelling all over the world, these myriad experiences spinning through her mind, faster and faster. She wondered what the heck was in that tea.
Something lifted in her, a weight that she’d been carrying for longer than she could remember. The jittery indecisive feeling she’d had since Corfu subsided and, in its place, a calm certainty.
Rose wrapped her arms around herself and began to sway and sing under her breath. The song that came to her was ‘Gypsy’ – that would be her anthem. The song rose from deep inside her. She was moving and spinning and dancing, her arms swung wide. She found herself smiling and finished with a deep bow, and she heard distant applause coming down the years, closer and closer, and it was for her. Her alone.
Chapter Twenty
Maggie came down the ramp into the arrivals hall and looked around for Kristo, ready to wave and smile. Instead of Kristo, she saw Nico. He either hadn’t seen her or didn’t recognise her with the cropped hair, as his gaze swept past her to the other exit door. Without a moment’s hesitation, she ducked under the cordon and headed in the opposite direction. She saw the signs for the train and followed them. Anything to get out of the airport. Where was Kristo? He had the flight details. He couldn’t have sent Nico … She had felt quite relaxed coming off the flight, with her plans all in place. Now her heart was racing, her palms sweaty. It was only when she was on the escalator headed down into the station that she dared look behind her, just to be sure.
Safely on the train, her mind whirred. Seeing Nico in the terminal had thoroughly rattled her and she wondered if he had arrived on another flight. In her calmer state over the last week, she had realised that there was no real evidence that Nico had followed her to Europe. The idea was obviously absurd, but she’d been looking over her shoulder for twenty years, trying to second-guess him. It was ingrained in her – which was exactly what he wanted, to be constantly on her mind.
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