by Liz Byrski
‘You’re shocking, Florrie.’ Zena laughed. ‘I come for the company too, and to do something useful with my time.’ She turned to Grace. ‘It’s a lot more fun than tennis and bridge.’
Grace looked around at the quilts that had been created from messy piles of fabric, at the women working, talking and laughing together in the big chilly hall, which was filled with the same energy and spirit that had been a part of the quilting retreat. ‘Did you start all this, Viv? On your own?’
‘More or less, with a little help from my friends! And now Orinda has the same deal going in the US. They’re sending fabric down to women in Mexico and Brazil.’
Grace took a deep breath. ‘It’s incredible. Honestly, it’s brilliant. I … I don’t know what to say …’
‘Say you’ll think about it, Grace,’ Vivienne said. ‘Say you’ll think about Indonesia, perhaps, or Vietnam. Say you’ll think about fitting it into your new life.’
It was four-thirty and almost dark when Vivienne pulled onto the M23 and headed for home. They had spent several hours at the workshop, looking at the accounts, and the business and marketing plan that Vivienne and Gary had drawn up for the Patchwork Project.
‘It’s not exactly self-funding, is it?’ Grace asked.
‘No,’ Vivienne admitted, negotiating her way into a faster-moving lane of traffic. ‘We get donations from quite a few places now, especially since we’ve got some of the more spectacular stuff to show.’
‘But I think you’ve topped it up a bit, haven’t you?’
‘From time to time, yes, I have,’ she admitted. ‘Certainly at the start, but not now. Gary’s topped it up too, but not with money, with effort. He’s been as good as gold. I don’t think we could have got this far without him. We also had a seeding grant from the government at the start.’
‘I could probably get something going back home,’ Grace said as a truck roared past sending a shower of mud and slush onto the windscreen. ‘I think I could.’
‘Look, Grace, the most important thing is that you keep going strongly along your present path, looking after yourself, getting out of the rat-race. I’d love you to get involved in this, but I don’t want to dump a lot of stuff on you when you’re sorting out your life. Just keep it in mind and if it feels right, then it can be as much or as little as you like.’
‘I have to organise earning a living first,’ Grace said. ‘But working part-time I could spend some time on this.’
Grace’s love affair with the snow lasted until the whiteness melted to a dirty slush, worsened daily by freezing rain that turned the roads to dangerous rinks of black ice. ‘I don’t think I could cope with this weather for long,’ she told Vivienne as they sat around the kitchen table looking at the information on women’s aid projects in the Asia-Pacific region Grace had found on the Internet.
‘Told you so.’ Vivienne grinned with more than a slight air of triumph. ‘But just wait a few weeks till the snowdrops start coming up. It’s a pity you can’t stay until Easter, see the spring.’
‘Don’t I wish. But I have to face the music back home. I can’t tell you how much I’d like to stay on, despite the weather!’
‘Well, you’ve got another four weeks so we must make the most of it. Why don’t we go down to Brighton this afternoon? I can take you to the Pavilion and show you the costume collection and the fabric restoration we did.’
They cleared the papers off the table and struggled into their coats.
‘Four weeks,’ Grace sighed, pulling on a pair of Vivienne’s boots. That should be long enough to feel confident about the new me before I go back.’
Vivienne grinned. ‘Everything you’ve done indicates courage and determination. I don’t think you’ll fall in a heap when you get home, but I suppose a few weeks to consolidate it is a good thing.’
But it was just two days before Grace had the opportunity to test her new self on her home ground. When they got back from Brighton the message from the nursing home was waiting on the answering machine. Reverend Duckworth, her father, had had a stroke and a fall and he kept calling Grace’s name. The doctor thought he would only last a few more days. Grace listened to the message several times and then called the nursing home.
‘I wondered what I would do if this happened while I was away,’ she told Vivienne. ‘After all, half the time he doesn’t know who I am, but …’
‘But now he’s asking for you and you can’t ignore it?’
Grace nodded. ‘I don’t think this is just me thinking I’m indispensable. There simply isn’t anyone else, not family or friends, I mean. They’re all dead, or too old and frail themselves. There’s no one else to be with him, and no one else to bury him. This time I really do have to go.’
Vivienne nodded. ‘Of course you do. You may not make it in time, but you won’t forgive yourself if you don’t try. Go and find your ticket and I’ll start dialling the airline. We’ll see if we can get you on a flight tomorrow.’
TWENTY
‘Now that we’ve got her into her underwear and skirt, we’ll sit her up gently and put her sweater on, and then use the hoist to lift her into the chair,’ Estelle said. ‘C’mon, honey, that’s it, pop your arm through here, and now the other one … well done. Can you smooth down the back of her dress, please, Sally. Good. Now, up we go, Lisa.’
Sally watched as the frail figure in the hoist was lowered into the wheelchair. She picked up Lisa’s shoes and took them over to her, kneeling on the floor beside her, picking up the small bony feet and sliding them carefully into the soft red leather pumps.
‘That’s it!’ Estelle said, smoothing down her own dress and pinning back a strand of white hair that had escaped the knot at the back of her neck. ‘You’re getting really good at this, Sally. Want to go out and sit by the pool now, Lisa? Daddy’s making us some coffee.’
Estelle opened the glass doors and Sally wheeled Lisa out into the sunlight, parking the chair alongside the big table while Estelle adjusted the sunshade to protect Lisa’s face, and draped a rug over her knees.
‘The sun’s beautiful this morning but it’s not really all that warm, is it? How about you, Sally? March is more summer for you, isn’t it? Don’t you feel chilly?’
Sally shook her head. ‘No, this suits me fine. I’m not keen on the very hot weather. I usually go into hiding in the summer.’
Oliver came out through the kitchen door carrying a tray laden with a coffee plunger, mugs, a jug of cream and a plate of chocolate-chip cookies. ‘Hey, Lisa, you look great in that red sweater,’ he called, setting the tray down on the table. ‘Is that the one Sally brought you? Want some coffee?’
A slight flicker seemed to cross the girl’s face and one hand began its characteristic fluttering wave.
‘I think that means yes,’ Oliver said, and he poured a little coffee and a lot of cream into a plastic mug with a spout. ‘I’ll leave it there a while to cool,’ he said. ‘Sally, coffee for you? Cream?’
Sally took the mug from him, watching as he poured Estelle’s and then his own before sitting down. She was ill at ease but it was nothing to do with the Mendelsons’ hospitality. It was twelve weeks since the New Year’s Day lunch at which she had hoped to put things right, wipe clean her slate and start again. ‘It’ll be fine, Sally,’ Steve had said as they drove across the Bay Bridge on New Year’s Day. ‘Whatever happens today can only make things better. The worst is over – all you have to do is stay cool, be strong and let them take the lead. It’s just a friendly lunch. Okay?’
‘Okay! But …’
‘But what?’
‘Well … I don’t know, really … don’t expect anything rational from me, Steve, I’m too scared to make sense.’
They were approaching the tollbooth and he slowed down, reaching out to take her hand. ‘I know. But it’s gonna be okay. Believe me.’
She squeezed his hand, thankful for his reassuring presence. And it was as he’d predicted, a low-key family occasion. Estelle and Oliver had welcome
d her warmly, Estelle even reaching out to hug Sally and then taking her arm to lead her through into the lounge. Sally, dizzy with nerves, thought her tension must be obvious, and felt shamed by their generosity. Oliver drew Steve into the room and poured drinks while Estelle introduced them to Oliver’s parents, Simon and Naomi. The senior Mendelsons were well into their eighties, with the same small, spare build as their son.
Naomi grabbed Sally’s hand and patted the space beside her on the couch. ‘My dear, I’m so happy to meet you. Estelle and Oliver told us all about you. It’s so wonderful that you’ve come to see Lisa, our darling girl. You know, I can see the likeness, not strongly, but just there in the eyes and the shape of your face. Now, come and sit down here and tell me all about yourself. We’re all family now, aren’t we?’
Sally sat beside her, taking a deep breath. Clearly the parents had not been told the full story.
‘This must all seem pretty strange to you, Sally,’ Simon said, passing her a small dish of olives. ‘But y’know, we’re all delighted to see you here.’ He patted her shoulder and wandered over to the window to join Oliver and Steve.
Naomi soon had Sally looking at photographs of her other children and grandchildren, Lisa’s cousins, she said, who all loved her to bits. ‘They all take their turns,’ she confided, lowering her voice as Estelle went out to the kitchen. ‘All of them come around and help out with Lisa. It’s a lot of work for Estelle, you know, that’s why she gave up the opera. She had a wonderful career but Lisa was more important.’
Sally’s cheeks burned as Naomi talked about the hours Estelle spent exercising Lisa’s limbs and trying to teach her to speak again. ‘But in the end it just seemed it was going nowhere. That lovely girl, such a tragedy. I can’t imagine how you must feel to get here and discover this, Sally. Now, did you say you’ve got some pictures of your mom and dad?’
By the time lunch was served Sally was feeling more relaxed, and as they went through to the dining room Tessa, Lisa’s carer, wheeled her into the room and Naomi took Lisa’s hands in hers and planted a kiss on the top of her head. ‘Here you are then, darling girl,’ she said, instinctively toning down a few decibels. ‘And doesn’t that necklace look lovely. Look, Sally, this was one of my Christmas gifts to Lisa. We have Christmas and Hanukkah, darling, don’t we? Any opportunity for celebration!’
‘It’s her favourite now, Mrs Mendelson,’ Tessa said. ‘She wants to wear it every day.’
‘My, and it suits her so well,’ said Simon, coming over to Lisa. ‘You got a kiss for your old granddad, sweetheart?’
Sally looked to Estelle for guidance. ‘She’ll probably remember you,’ Estelle said. ‘Take Steve and introduce him.’
It all seemed so simple but, even once the first hurdles were over, Sally saw that everyone, including Steve, was more at ease in dealing with Lisa than she was. ‘But it’s inevitable,’ Steve had said later that evening as they walked through the San Francisco streets still festooned with Christmas decorations. ‘It’s easy for me because I don’t have the hopes, the expectations, all the emotional investment that you have.’
But Sally was disappointed in herself, and she stayed that way. Even now, almost three months later and after visiting Lisa every week, she felt a hollowness as she learned to do things for and with her. Each visit was the same: the anticipatory tension, the disappointment on arrival, the sense of emptiness and futility while she was there. She was an outsider, and no amount of warmth and generosity on the part of the Mendelsons could change that. Whatever she had hoped for the day she made her first reconnoitring trip along Hyde Street was long forgotten. But what had she hoped for once the situation was clear? What had she expected once she had dealt with her anger and grief and made peace with Estelle and Oliver? Putting things right had been the most important thing and now there seemed little else left to do. Lisa’s ability to relate to people was limited to those she had known all her life. It rested on the knowledge of a shared past, and the expectation of love and care. The people around her knew the person Lisa had been, but Sally had no foundations on which to build.
‘What shocks me,’ she said to Nancy later, ‘is that I actually feel very little for her. I feel grief about the accident and a sort of peace that I’ve connected with them all, but I can’t seem to feel real love for Lisa. I’m strangely detached. Do you think there’s something wrong with me?’
Nancy shook her head and went on potting the seedlings that were spread out on the balcony. ‘Nope, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you at all. I don’t think there’s anything there that you can relate to. It’s not as though Lisa can contribute anything, there can’t be any real interaction. What exists between Lisa and the family exists because it’s always been there. They work to keep that alive. I don’t imagine it’s possible for her to build something new.’
‘Well, there’s Tessa, the carer. She has a relationship with her.’
‘But didn’t you say that Lisa knew Tessa before the accident?’
‘Yes, she’s the daughter of Oliver’s parents’ housekeeper.’
‘There you are then,’ Nancy said, pressing a marigold into a pot. ‘Same thing. Memory, familiarity and the effort by the others to maintain the relationship they had before the accident.’
‘I feel like a complete moron,’ Sally said. ‘I launch myself over here, bounce along to the Mendelsons’, throw a tantrum and upset them, upset you guys and Steve, break his leg and then, when I’m lucky enough to get a second chance, I can’t really feel anything.’
Nancy stood up and took off her gardening gloves. ‘Want my advice, Sally? Let go of it. You’ve done what you came here to do. You saw Lisa. Nothing went as planned, but you laid a ghost. She has a family who love her. Frankly, there’s not really anything you can do, except visit from time to time, stay in touch. It can’t go any further than this. It’s time to move on.’
‘That’s exactly what I told her,’ said Steve, coming out onto the balcony with more plants. ‘Time to move on, Sally, for your sake and for theirs. They’re real nice people and they adore Lisa. They’ll accommodate you, but they don’t need you. You can only complicate things for them and for yourself.’
‘Sounds right to me,’ said Nancy. ‘Time to think about something else. Concentrate on the photography, finish your course. Stop going there every week, stop trying to be involved, just stay in touch.’
‘You can be more involved with me if you like,’ said Steve, putting his arm around her shoulders. ‘Or do I have to break the other leg to get your undivided attention?’
Sally punched him lightly on the chest. ‘You! Whatever did I do to deserve you?’
‘I think you must have been very good in a former life. You can focus all your attention on me and my daughter problems. Don’t you reckon, Nancy?’
Nancy set the new pots along the low wall and turned to him, raising her eyebrows. ‘Steve, I reckon your daughter’s more of a challenge than any sane woman would want to take on!’ she said. ‘Do you guys have time for a beer? Let’s find Chuck and a bottle opener.’
In the end letting go was easier than she had anticipated. She was surprised that she felt no guilt, and no great sadness, just relief in moving away. And she could see that Estelle and Oliver were relieved too. Together they found a middle ground of respect and affection. Sally was part of the extended family, she would always be welcome, and Lisa was held at the heart of a family who loved her – Sally’s presence was not really relevant.
Although the anxiety ended, the hollowness persisted. Sally wondered what it had all been about. For thirty years Lisa had been her dark secret. The pain, the loss and the shame had been the background music of her life, in recent years acquiring a discomforting pitch and tone. Now she was free. She threw herself into the final weeks of the course, catching up on assignments, attempting more challenging and creative work, grasping at the new vision and sense of herself that the camera helped her to discover. But time was slipping away and de
cisions had to be made.
It was almost Easter, her visa would soon expire and there were more painful separations ahead, for as she moved away from Lisa she was allowing herself to move closer to Steve. For the first time in her life she was in a relationship in which she received as much as she gave, and she didn’t want to lose it. Earlier in the year Steve had suggested that he might return to Australia with her for a visit, but he had not mentioned it again. She wanted to talk to him about where they were heading, but was reluctant to raise the subject. As each day passed she grew increasingly uneasy, not even mentioning the inevitable departure, the need to book her return flight and make plans for home. She wasn’t sure if the taboo was a joint creation or purely of her own making.
‘I’ve had an invitation,’ Steve said on Easter Sunday as they drove north through the vineyards of the Nappa Valley to Calistoga. ‘Well, not an invitation, more an offer – an offer of work.’
Sally twisted in her seat to look at him. ‘A good offer? What is it?’
‘A good offer. The California Jazz Association wants me to do a book on jazz in California. A coffee-table-type book, you know, lots of pictures linked by a creative essay.’ He glanced away from the road to look at her. ‘It’s good money, and of course it would be a terrific thing to do, a book like that …’ He paused glancing at her again. ‘What do you think?’
‘What do I think? Well, it’s wonderful,’ she said, forcing herself to sound enthusiastic. ‘Will you write the text and do the photographs as well?’
‘Write the text, yes, and take some of the photographs. Some will come from archives, obviously. It’s due to be released at the jazz festival in Berkeley at the end of next year.’
She was appalled at her own selfishness, fixing her smile as she looked ahead at the road. ‘So you’ll have to get on to it soon. I’m really pleased for you. It’s just the sort of work you were wanting, isn’t it? Have you signed a contract?’
