“I had to for a couple of weeks. We were in a two-bedroom apartment, but they’ve found me a one-bedroom and a bachelor for him. So now we’re fighting over the furniture.”
“Don’t you have meals together?”
“Just dinner. But I don’t sit with him. Chloe does.” Thelma fluttered her eyelashes and simpered, “Oh George, dear, would you like me to cut up your meat?” She got up and sashayed across the room casting each of us a ‘come hither’ look before sitting down again. “I had to get the staff to guard our apartment while we moved. He and a couple of other old codgers carried away my recliner chair while I was out. I caught them in the hall, so I sat in it and screamed.”
I’d tried to practice a scream once—in the car. It’s very difficult to do, but Thelma, of course, had been on the stage.
“What happened?”
“The staff came and moved it back. Told George nothing is to be touched until the legal stuff is finished. They took his key.” She raised both arms in a V.
Eva stood up, which is usually the sign that she wants the bathroom. Maggie took her, leaving the purse on the chair. Before long a cry like a distressed cat emitted from the toilet and Eva, peeing down her leg, ran out.
“Shoot, I should have taken the purse with her.” Maggie grabbed it, but as it was open, the contents spilled on to the floor. Maggie scooped up most of the items, thrust the purse at Eva and helped her back into the toilet. I picked up an envelope and a black and white studio photo fell out. It showed a glamorous woman with wavy black hair, a wide, cheerful smile, and calm, tender eyes. She could have been a film star but no, it was a young Eva. I stared at the picture. I felt a lump in my throat as tears came into my eyes.
How much longer could we handle Eva? Or, more importantly, how much longer could Ed handle her dementia? He did not want her to go into a home, but he was no spring chicken himself. His respite of two hours while she was with us was about his only time off. When I first met Eva she was a lively, active woman who fostered handicapped children and who enjoyed the outdoor activities she organized for them. Ed must love her dearly to continue to care for her in such a state.
When Ed came for Eva I helped her into the car trying to ignore her wet dress and making sure her purse was in her hands. As I waved them off it was the cheerful face and the serene smile of the real Eva who looked out of the window. What a supreme irony: Eva, who for years looked after the mentally handicapped, now needed such care herself.
Couples: Ed and Eva, Thelma and George, Frank and me. What would my life be like if I’d stayed with Frank? I certainly wouldn’t be poor. Frank had his own plumbing business and was never short of work. We were together about fifteen years, until the children were teenagers. What went wrong? We had both grown up knowing what our roles were: his to clean gutters, do repairs, mow the lawn; mine to cook, clean, look after the children. My view shattered after reading Germaine Greer’s The Female Eunuch and poor Frank, who had no equivalent male wake-up call, had to deal with a furious wife who was no longer content to do all the housework. Divorce was the only way we knew how to handle this state of affairs.
The Crones never did discuss books that day, but what the hell? Life is stranger than fiction.
15
I visited the grow shop again and asked Michael about taking cuttings. He printed out a sheet of directions for me. In addition to the jiffy pots and trays that Swan was getting, I needed Vitamin B and rooting gel. I was able to buy them as they didn’t cost much, so when Swan arrived to help me, everything was ready.
We set to work in the cupboard. Since the lights in the grow room were off, it was quite cool in there even with the fluorescents on. A small bucket of tepid water held sixty jiffy pots soaking until they expanded and a large bowl of warm water with Vitamin B in it was ready to receive the cuttings. I had searched through my embroidery stuff and found really sharp scissors and with rooting gel in a ramekin we were ready.
Swan looked more like her usual self with a piece of orange hair running down the back of her head. She’d got over the treacherous Milo and as we squeezed the jiffy pots until they weren’t dripping, she told me all about her new boyfriend. “He just moved to Nelson. He’s a mechanic.”
“That can be useful. Look, open the slit of each jiffy wide enough to put the stalk in.”
“I can do that.” Swan began to fill two trays with wet jiffies. “He’s got a regular job too. He’s the first boyfriend I’ve ever had with regular hours.”
I turned to the mother plants and inspected one for suitable shoots. “What’s his name?”
“Sam.”
I looked at her in mock surprise. “Sam? You mean you have a boyfriend with an ordinary name?”
She laughed. “There. The jiffies are ready. Now what?”
“We start cutting shoots. The key is to not let an air bubble get into the stalk, so you have to make a clean cut and quickly put the cutting into water.” I pulled at a branch, selected a shoot, cut it and transferred it to the bowl of water.
Swan picked up the printout from Michael. “The shoots should have three leaves,” she said. “You know, Sam is the first boyfriend I’ve had who doesn’t grow and doesn’t smoke. He’s a health freak.”
“In what way?”
“He works out every day with weights and won’t eat chips.”
“Sounds good.”
When ten shoots rested in the water I lined up the gel pot next to the jiffies and said, “Right. Here we go. You cut off the end again under water, dip it into the gel for a few moments…and then into a jiffy. Squeeze the top of the jiffy to hold the stalk, like this, and Bob’s your uncle. I think that’s right.”
Swan said, “You do the cutting and I’ll squeeze the jiffies and arrange them on the tray.” She began to work and then said, “He’s respectful. I like that. And he’s clean. Doesn’t leave his underwear on the floor, or his smelly socks.”
“What do you look for in a guy?” I cut more shoots.
Swan stopped compressing jiffy pots and thought for a moment. “After Milo, loyalty I guess. Personal hygiene. Sweat is not sexy. Someone who wants a girlfriend, not a mother.” She carried on preparing the pots. “Intelligent of course. Can hold a conversation and that means listening, not just talking. How many’s that?”
“Forty. Only twenty to go.”
“A sense of humor is good. Sam doesn’t have one unfortunately. He has a lawyer buddy, Luke. Luke went out with Nance a couple of times. As soon as things started looking serious he gave her a contract to sign.”
I laughed. “Good grief.”
“Yeah. I nearly died laughing. But Sam was dead serious. He thought Luke was great. I told him not to even think of trying the same thing with me.”
We soon had thirty cuttings in each tray and Swan lovingly placed a see-through dome over them and then lowered the stack of fluorescent lights until they were close to the top of the domes. “I think you leave the lights on all the time don’t you?” she asked.
“Oh, I didn’t ask about that. I’ll see what the book says. I know I have to mist them twice a day with Vitamin B solution and wipe down the domes.” I looked at the remains of the mother plants drooping over their pots. “Thank you Mums. You produced some wonderful offspring.”
Swan took a construction garbage bag out of a box and emptied the mothers and their soil into it. “Where do you want this?”
“There’s a stack by the back door. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them.”
“Wait until harvest when you have to empty all the pots. Then you take them to the dump.”
“Don’t they smell?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t matter. You throw them into the containers yourself. I’ll help you.”
“I’ve never been to the dump. There’s always been someone else to take stuff.”
“You drive on. They weigh you. You
drive to the Household bin, throw the bags into it, drive back on to the scale, pay, and that’s it. Easy peasy.”
“Don’t I need a truck?”
“Nah. Your car should be big enough. Gotta go.” Swan gave me a big hug and left in her usual whirl, a whirl that disturbed the atmosphere. What influence would Sam have on her? If he tried to control her and squash her spirit he’d be ready to join the Vienna Boys’ Choir if I had anything to do with it.
There was something endearing about Swan—a sort of innocence. She was the type of person who attracted dogs and small children who wouldn’t care what she looked like. Swan would never give away my secret. As a member of the growing community, she followed the unwritten rule to never discuss growing in public or on the phone.
Jason and family were away on holiday. I would ask them for dinner when they got back. I hadn’t had them over for ages, largely because of lack of room, but the weather was good enough to use the deck. Should I include Swan? Amy would likely croak when she saw the type of person I hung out with, but the kids would love her. Yes, I would ask her and watch Amy’s reaction.
16
“Hi Mum, I’ve got a present for you. Guess what?” Jason’s voice sounded cheerful on the phone.
“A crab? Oysters?”
“No. A computer! One of my clients upgraded recently and sold off his laptops really cheap so I got you one.”
“That’s very good of you, luv, but…”
“I know you’ve been using the computer at the library and I also know you don’t want to turn into an old fuddy-duddy, so I think you’ll enjoy it. I’ll set it up so you’ll have an email account and Internet access. Then you can email Lisa.”
I had balked when he first suggested a computer, but since then the idea had grown tempting, especially since it would mean being more in touch with Lisa. And, I had to admit, using the Internet at the library and being able to look up so many things had become a habit. If I got stuck I could always call on Jason, though Amy had made a fuss about him helping me when he’d first suggested it. Maybe we wouldn’t tell her.
Jason told me about the cottage they’d rented right on the beach and how Nicholas had enjoyed the fishing net I’d given him and how they’d watched an eagle fishing every morning. “I’ll give you the computer when you come on Sunday,” Jason continued.
“Actually, I was going to ask you all for dinner,” I said. “It’s ages since you were all over and we can sit on the deck where there’s more room. Can you come on Wednesday?”
“I’ll check with Amy. That will be great, but are you sure you want us in the house?”
“Of course. Why not?”
“Right. I’ll bring the laptop then and help you set it up. I also have a printer.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll be printing anything.” I didn’t have an office or a suitable space.
“You never know,” Jason said.
Wednesday arrived with the blessing of pork chops at the food bank. I had hoarded a previous supply of sausages and hamburgers in the freezer, so I had enough meat to give people choices. Swan could come and promised to arrive early to help me. She also said she would bring a salad, so with an apple pie I’d made, I was all set.
Ingredients for baking were readily obtainable from the food bank. They didn’t seem to be in heavy demand, perhaps because people didn’t bake from scratch anymore. But I still made my own pastry and cakes, although not bread as it’s a lot of effort for one person.
I marinated the chops, lit my little charcoal barbecue in good time, and got spuds ready to make the fries the kids love. It was hot in the sun, but my deck faced north and was nice and cool.
One major preparation was to check my basket of toys. As the children hadn’t been to my place for months, it had sat unused, but much of it was still functional: stickers, a floor puzzle, lace cards, trucks, and a tea set.
Swan arrived carrying a colorful bag over one shoulder and holding a large wooden bowl that held a fresh-looking salad with seeds sprinkled on it. She hung the bag on a kitchen chair and said, “Stuff for the kids.”
I had been hoping she would appear her most bizarre and she didn’t disappoint me. Her hair, slightly longer now, looked as if she’d had an electric shock. It stood straight up in the air, held there by some sort of glossy glue. Some of the sprouts were pink with sparkly things in them so that her head looked like an ornamental cabbage.
Two pieces of metal were implanted in her face: a ring in her upper lip and a stud in the furrow between her nose and lip. Just seeing them brought tears to my eyes—imagine the pain of putting them in. Her eyes were huge with dilated pupils, as if she’d just had them examined by an optician, and gave her a startled look like an animal caught in headlights. How had she achieved that effect? Was it drugs? She seemed clear-headed enough.
A sleeveless top revealed a dragon, with a rose in its mouth, tattooed on one shoulder. I pointed to it. “Is that new? What does it mean?”
She peered at her shoulder as if she had never seen it before. “I was born under the dragon. Chinese. The rose means love.”
“Oh, I see.”
A very short and tight black skirt hung below the tank top and covered red and yellow striped tights that she surely must have obtained from a sale of Shakespearean costumes at the theater.
Straight-laced Amy would not approve of her. I smiled.
I suppose I should have felt guilty about wanting to get a rise out of Amy but I didn’t. She reminded me of my Great Aunt Harriet who always looked as if she had a bad smell under her nose and who had looked down on us kids as if we had head lice. Quite often we did, but not after vinegar treatment, and anyway, she never ever had another expression on her face. So, of course, we wanted to play tricks on her. My brother once sealed her handbag shut with chewing gum but he got such a walloping we never dared try another.
“How’s Sam working out?”
She turned to me with a huge smile and bright eyes. “I think I’m in love. He’s the best man I’ve ever had. Thoughtful. Tender. Picks up after himself. Helps around the house.”
“Sounds like his mother did a good job.”
The front door opened and Jason backed in carrying two cardboard boxes. “Hi, Mum, where should I put these?”
Before I could answer, Nicholas pushed past him to give me a hug, closely followed by Amy holding Julie’s hand. Amy wore neat, pressed white shorts and a lime green fitted shirt, tucked into her belt. As always, her hair was immaculate, her nails manicured, and she smelled of expensive perfume.
Everyone bunched in the hall until I said, “In the living room for now, Jason. Hello Amy, come on in.”
In the kitchen I introduced Swan as my former co-worker to Amy and the children. If Amy was aghast at Swan’s appearance, she didn’t show it. The children, however, were mesmerized. When Swan said, “Kids, check this out,” they followed her to the table and began to work on the puzzle books she had brought. She sat with them, pointed out where to start a maze to Nicholas and helped Julie place stickers on outlined figures.
Amy barely said hello when she arrived, but went straight out and sat on the balcony with her back to the kitchen.
Jason came out and said to her, “Have you got that box I gave you to bring in?”
Amy continued to stare at the mountain. “No.”
“Is it in the car?” Jason sounded impatient.
“How should I know?” Amy got up, pushed past Jason to move into the kitchen. She poured herself a glass of wine.
Jason glared at her, but didn’t say anything. He moved back into the living room and called out, “Come and see this, Mum.”
Swan turned to me and said, “Why don’t you go look at your new laptop? Amy and I’ll watch the barbecue, won’t we Amy?”
“Sure,” Amy said.
“Right, I’ll put the fries in the oven and then
I’ll have thirty minutes.”
Jason had the laptop open on the living room sofa. “The nice thing about a laptop, Mum, is that you’re not tied to one place. Once the battery is charged you’ve got about two hours to move it anywhere.”
“What about the printer?” I said. “That has to be in one place, surely?”
“Yes. I tell you what; I’ll drop by some other time and set that up for you. Right now I want to show you how this works.”
His enthusiasm was infectious and by the end of his demonstration I could hardly wait to play with my new toy. I returned to the kitchen to find the children absorbed with cutouts and Amy and Swan on the balcony sipping wine and engrossed in conversation as they tended the barbecue.
“They’re good for tourism,” Swan was saying as she flipped a hamburger.
“Maybe,” Amy said. “But they’re all into drugs.”
“Have you ever been out there? There’s tight security.”
“No, I haven’t. The tickets are four hundred dollars! Four hundred dollars to have your eardrums blasted! I already have two kids to keep me awake at night. I don’t need blaring music.”
Swan laughed. “It’s turned into a world class music festival. People save up to come to Shambala. You should try it.”
“I don’t think I have the right wardrobe. I knew it was time for Shambala when I saw a guy with bright yellow pants, no shirt, and a mock leopard skin jacket walking down Baker Street.”
“I saw him too,” I joined in. “He looked like a cross between Tarzan and Bozo the clown.”
Amy set places at the table for the children.
“I think it’s awesome. It started with the kids on the farm wanting to host a dance party for their friends, you know, and it grew and grew. Now ten thousand people come from all over the world. Tickets sell out months before.” Swan energetically poked a sausage. “You should be grateful for how much money they bring into the community.”
“Well, you have a point. All the shops sell out of camping gear and the grocery shelves are bare,” Amy said. “But it’s the people hanging out all over Baker Street afterward that bothers me. They block the sidewalk, have their dogs running loose, and play drums all day. It’s a good thing there’s a by-law now.”
Gone to Pot Page 11
