She stopped answering his calls after that. She didn’t reply to any emails or texts either, no matter how many he sent and what time he sent them. He’d gone around to her house one night, one last-ditch effort. Her flatmate was stony-faced when she eventually answered the door. ‘You’re too late,’ she’d said, sounding almost happy about it. His ex-girlfriend had left for London the previous day. ‘You need help,’ the friend said, before shutting the door in his face.
His own flatmate started criticising him. ‘You’re so serious these days, mate. Cheer up.’
His mother started ringing too often. He’d made the mistake of calling her one night when he’d been drinking, telling her everything about the breakup, the job, how he was running out of money. She’d threatened to visit again. He’d had to insist she didn’t. Told her he needed to work it out for himself. The next day a cheque had arrived, sent priority post. A note from her in it. She’d obviously decided all he had wrong with him was a broken heart. If only it was that simple. ‘You’ll meet someone else,’ she’d written. ‘There’s plenty more fish in the sea. Don’t worry. You’re still young.’
Sure. Don’t worry, be happy. He had so much to be happy about, so much to live for, life was so full of wonders.
Bullshit. Life’s hard and then you die. And if you don’t want to hang around and wait for it to happen, wait for life to drag itself out day after day, then you make it happen, don’t you? Bring it to an end yourself.
What was the alternative? Get another job, lose that one? Find another girlfriend, break up with her too? Go through this pain again? Forget it. What was the point? So why not die before life gets even harder?
He’d done his research. He spent hours on the web. He made his decision. He’d use tablets. Quick, painless. No blood, no guns. There had been site after site giving him advice. He chose the place next. A motel, he decided. Not here in the flat. He owed Rick that much. He chose it at random online – the town, the motel, the dates, everything. It was only after he sent the enquiry email that he realised the date he’d booked. Christmas Day. Ho ho ho.
When he got that email straight back telling him his stay would be free, that he’d won some online competition, he took it as a sign. He was doing what he was supposed to do. If the motel was free, there’d be no bad scenes money-wise afterwards, his mother being chased to pay some outstanding bill. He’d also leave a note for her, explaining everything. He’d already tried to write it, several times. He wanted her to know it wasn’t her fault. It had nothing to do with the kind of mother she’d been, the fact that his parents had divorced years ago. None of that mattered these days. Everyone he knew came from broken homes. Bad phrase. His home hadn’t been broken. His mum had done the best she could for him and his little sister. Told them nearly every day how much she loved them. If anything, she laid it on a bit thick sometimes. That was one of the reasons he decided to leave home when he did. She’d been so proud when he started getting trade work, even prouder that time he came home for his summer holiday two years earlier and surprised her by re-covering the old sofa in the back room. She’d carried on as if he’d redecorated the entire house. ‘All I did was fix up a sofa. That’s what I do. That’s my job these days.’
‘It’s beautiful, Neil. It really is.’
She’d been so happy that day. So proud of him. But he couldn’t think about her. She’d understand. She’d have to understand. She’d have no choice. Just like him. He had to do what he’d decided to do. He was too sick and tired of living like this.
He checked his emails now and frowned. A new one had just come in. Another one from the motel, from someone called Lola Quinlan, asking him to list his favourite food, drink, his age and occupation. For fuck’s sake – whatever happened to anonymous motel bookings? Who cared what his favourite things were? It wasn’t as if he’d be joining everyone for lunch, was it? Sitting around pulling crackers and telling jokes and singing ‘Jingle Bells’ with complete strangers? He wanted to just catch the bus there, book into his room and be left alone so he could do what he’d gone there to do. For his sake, for their sake, for everyone’s sake. So long. Goodbye. Forever.
He looked at the email again and felt another surge of rage. One more person nagging him, demanding attention and answers. His flatmate and mother were bad enough. He pressed delete. Forget it. He’d go somewhere else, where he wasn’t going to be interrogated.
Then he remembered it was free.
He clicked on the trash file and retrieved the email. If he didn’t go to that motel, he’d have to find somewhere else. Maybe even pay a deposit with money he didn’t have. He’d already spent most of his dole money. What did it matter what he said back, anyway? It wasn’t as if he’d be eating or drinking anything there, anyway.
He wrote back one line, No favourites, and pressed send.
Outside, he heard Rick say something, call goodbye, maybe, and then the sound of the door being pulled shut behind him. Good. He was alone again.
Guests 2 and 3
In their suburban home, Tony and Helen had been fighting for the past ten minutes. Helen had made the mistake of telling him about the email she’d received from the Clare Valley motel that afternoon asking for their favourite food, drink, carols etc., in preparation for Christmas. She’d answered on behalf of both of them, sending the email straight back, impressed at how organised this Lola Quinlan was. She’d told Tony all about it, hoping to get him even slightly enthused. Instead, he’d said again that he wouldn’t go.
‘Why not?’ she asked again.
‘I told you. Just because.’
‘That’s no excuse. Why not?’
‘We can’t afford it. Business hasn’t been great this year, you know that.’
‘But it’s free, Tony. I told you last week, I won a competition. I showed you the email. So you can’t use that as an excuse.’
‘We’ll still have to pay for most of our meals.’
‘I’ll pack sandwiches if I have to. I’ll go without you.’
He shrugged.
The shrug triggered it. She burst into tears. It was the first time since everything happened that she’d cried in front of him. Now, once she’d started, it felt like she would never stop. He didn’t move. He just stared at her, shocked, but he didn’t move.
She made herself calm down, roughly wiped the tears away. But she had his full attention, for once. She had to use it. She had to talk to him, had to try to make him understand. ‘I can’t go on like this, Tony. I’ve tried to be patient. Give you the time you need, the space you need, the understanding, everything. But what about me, Tony? What about us?’ It all surged up from inside her, the hurt and frustration finally overtaking the sympathy she’d felt. ‘You think more about that man than you think about me, your wife, or your kids. Is it making you feel any better to wallow in this guilt day after day? Making anyone else feel better? No, Tony. It’s only doing bad things, stopping you from celebrating the fact you’re alive and punishing all of us who live within sight or sound of you.’
‘My life’s been a living hell the past year, Helen.’
‘And so has mine, Tony, so has mine.’
‘You weren’t there that day. You didn’t hear Ben scream. If I’d been a minute earlier, I might have seen it start to happen. Even thirty seconds earlier, I could have stopped the van from falling on him —’
She’d heard every detail of the accident so many times she’d had nightmares herself about it. The simplest of workplace errors, a chain not fastened properly before the car was hoisted onto the ramp. ‘But you weren’t there in time, Tony.’ Her tone was much gentler. ‘You weren’t. And it doesn’t matter how many times you go over and over it, how many days and nights you lock yourself away from the world, from me, how unhappy you make yourself, you’re not going to bring him back to life. He’s dead, Tony. It was an accident. A terrible, tragic accident. And it wasn’t your fault. You read the coroner’s report. It was an accident. You weren’t to blame.’
/> ‘It was. I was his boss. I should have trained him better.’
‘You did train him. You taught him all the safety rules. And that morning, Tony, for a reason we’ll never know, Ben ignored the rules and he paid the worst price possible for it. But he ignored the rules, Tony, not you. It wasn’t your fault.’ She took a step towards him. ‘You can’t just let it go round and round in your head forever. It’s been more than a year, Tony. And nothing has changed. Can’t you see that? Is this it? Is this what life is going to be like for us now?’
‘At least we’re alive.’
‘Yes, Tony, we’re alive. But it’s no life. Not for either of us.’
They didn’t talk for the rest of that night. He went into the living room and turned on the TV, though she knew he wasn’t watching it. Helen washed dishes, filled more time cleaning out cupboards that didn’t need cleaning, knowing the sound of the dishes and glasses being moved would be annoying. She wanted to annoy him. She wanted to keep talking to him, shout at him, get some new reaction out of him. Anything but this … this nothing, night after night.
Twice Helen went to the computer to send an email to the motel. She’d keep it brief. Explain that unfortunately they were now unable to take up the offer of the free Christmas stay. Thank you anyway. Happy Christmas.
The first time she was stopped by another sudden rush of tears. Guilt of her own, for not being understanding enough, then guilt for the anger she kept feeling towards Tony. One of her friends had gently suggested that she should perhaps go and talk to someone. A professional.
‘It’s Tony who needs it, not me.’ He’d tried one session with a counsellor, in the early months after the accident, but the appointment had lasted less than fifteen minutes. Tony had walked out. The counsellor hadn’t known what she was doing, he said. He’d refused to go back again, no matter how much Helen urged him.
‘I think you both need it,’ her friend said.
Helen had changed the subject.
But was that what she needed to do? Go and talk to someone, try to explain just how bad it had been? Or should she stop wishing she could turn back time, not just to before the accident, not just to back when Tony was interested, interesting, engaged with life, with her, with their children?
Because she wanted to go back even further than that, she realised. Back to when Katie and Liam were still living at home, when they were a family, when the very best moment of her week was Friday night, when the kids were home from school, Tony back from work. She’d have made something simple but good for dinner and they would settle back, the four of them, for a family night in. Those had been the happiest nights for her, safe and happy at home with a husband she loved, and the two happy, healthy children they loved and had raised together. The family they’d created.
The family that was now – what? Changed forever? Her husband was a different man, a stranger to her. Her two children were on the other side of the world. She thought of all the love she’d poured into them, the fun they’d had, even the difficulties they’d got through – exams, job searches, broken hearts. She remembered pretending she was so happy and so excited they were going to live overseas when in her heart she hated the idea of not seeing them every week … All of those thoughts and feelings and emotions, all she’d done for them, so willingly – she’d do it all again tomorrow – yet here she was, alone, unhappy, and so, so sad.
If Tony heard her crying again, he didn’t come in to see her. She stayed there, in front of the computer, until the sobs eased, until her breathing calmed, feeling so tired, as if the tears had used up all the energy she had. That was it, she realised. She’d run out of the energy she needed to keep Tony on an even keel, to try to cheer herself up. To do anything except a few hours teaching a month and the day-to-day drudgery of housework, meals, washing, cooking. Her life had shrunk to the inside of this house now, too. Was that all that was left for her? Was it time to think about finding a full-time teaching job? What was the alternative? Endless days here at home, tidying rooms that were already tidy, waiting for the sound of Tony’s key in the lock, feeling the mood in the house drop several degrees as he brought an almost visible cloud of unhappiness and misery in with him?
She was dreading Christmas Day especially. She must have been mad thinking a change of location would make any difference. They would just be miserable there instead of here. Any hopes of a merry country Christmas gathering, drinks with other guests, even a singalong, had faded. She’d been too optimistic. Even if she did get Tony to go there, he wouldn’t engage with anyone else. He barely spoke to her any more. He was hardly going to strike up lively conversations with fellow guests, lead everyone in a carol-singing evening, offer to carve the turkey, barbecue the prawns.
They’d have to stay here. Perhaps she would make a Christmas lunch for the two of them. Perhaps not. At the moment, she didn’t have the energy to think about even preparing a tray of sandwiches. She’d get something ready-made, they’d watch a few TV movies, talk to their son in Spain and daughter in England and then call it a day. What was the point in doing anything else?
She turned back to the computer again to write an email to cancel the booking. She was stopped again. As she opened up the folder, an email from her daughter appeared in her inbox, as if on the other side of the world Katie had known she was thinking about her. It was a cheery, enthusiastic email, filled with news about her weekend, her social life, the week ahead at her work in a bank in London, the bands she’d seen, the market she’d gone to, the cold weather, the talk of snow. How much she loved the lights and the decorations, how Christmassy it felt, like being in a film. How much she was looking forward to going away with friends to a rented country house in Norfolk for Christmas: It’s going to be like something from Pride and Prejudice or Upstairs Downstairs, by the sounds of things! she’d written. All we’re missing is the maids. Liam is really jealous. I think he has to work all over Christmas. What are your and Dad’s plans? A barbie on the beach? Picnic at the park?
Two days before, Helen might have written back about the Valley View Motel, how she’d booked it on the spur of the moment and then learnt she’d won a competition. Katie would have loved hearing all about that. It wasn’t the case now. She wrote back, forcing herself to sound cheerful.
Good morning, darling. A real-time email! Your Christmas sounds like it will be wonderful. No, no big plans here. A quiet day here at home, just your dad and me. You’ll have your mobile with you, won’t you, so we can at least ring you on the day?
She pressed send and waited, still marvelling at the wonders of this technology, that she could be talking to her daughter thousands of kilometres away. Her answer came back within two minutes.
Of course! It’s surgically attached to my hand. Just to warn you, my friend said that the mobile coverage isn’t great there at the best of times, and there’s snow forecast, so don’t worry if you can’t get through to me, I’ll trudge through snow and across fields if I have to, to find a spot that works. There’s no way I’d miss talking to you at Christmas. Better go, Mum, late for work. Love you. xxxx
Love you too xxx Helen wrote back.
After even that brief email exchange, Helen felt cheered up. Only slightly, but enough. She allowed herself a secret wish that both her children would surprise her with emails or phone calls to say they’d decided to change their plans for a working Christmas in Spain and a country mansion Christmas in England, that they were coming home for a proper Australian family Christmas and could Helen and Tony come and get them at the airport on Christmas Eve …
She stopped the fantasy there. Who was being the selfish one now? She was, wanting her children to put their adult lives on hold so she could have the pleasure of their company, their liveliness around her. This was empty-nest syndrome, magnified by what had happened to Tony. She had to pick herself up, keep going, try to be more patient, more understanding. It wasn’t going to help anyone if she and Tony kept arguing, if —
‘Helen?’
<
br /> She turned. Tony was at the door.
‘I’m sorry.’
It was the first time he had apologised for anything, for a long time. She was so shocked she didn’t answer.
‘You’re right,’ he said. He stepped into the room. ‘I have to move on. It’s just … I just wish —’
He started to cry. For the first time she could remember since their children were born, her husband of thirty-five years, a grown man, sobbed in front of her. She didn’t hesitate. She moved across to him, took him in her arms, soothing him with words, stroking his hair, holding him as tight as she could.
‘I’m sorry, Helen,’ he kept saying. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘It’s fine, Tony. It’s fine. It’s fine.’ Over and over again, the same words, until she sensed his tears start to slow, felt his breathing change, grow calmer.
‘I wish …’ Again, he couldn’t finish the sentence.
‘Things could be different?’ She spoke softly.
He nodded.
She held him tight again. Yes, she wished everything was different too. Not just for them, but for Ben’s family especially. If she and Tony were finding the thought of Christmas difficult, how on earth were they feeling? But she knew more than anything that this wasn’t the time to mention them.
He moved back slightly from her. She reached up and wiped a tear from his cheek. In that moment, she knew for sure she still loved him.
When he spoke again, his voice was soft. ‘If you really want to go away somewhere for Christmas, let’s go.’
Lola's Secret Page 9
