Mr. Preston scraped the remains of Grace's breakfast onto his fork with the knife.
“I thought about her all the time. I couldn't help it.
I would walk in the street and I would see a florist and I would think of Grace. I would buy a bunch of flowers and I would take them home to my wife, and she would say, “How thoughtful,' but I knew, when I gave them to her, that the person I had been thinking of was Grace, and I felt bad about that.” He took another slurp of coffee.
“A year later I was still buying flowers for Grace and giving them to my wife. I knew it wasn't just a passing infatuation. I wished that it had been. I still wanted to be where Grace was and I felt it more and more strongly. I told my wife that while I loved her and I cared for her, I didn't want to spend the rest of my life with her, and then she cried.”
Mr. Preston took another slurp of his coffee.
“I felt sad, too, because we had shared a great many things together. She asked me if there was someone else, and I hesitated. My wife took that as a yes. I tried to explain, but I knew that I was only hurting her more.”
Mr. Preston put Grace's now-empty plate onto his own. “Are you going to eat that?” he said, pointing to my plate. I shook my head. Mr. Preston leaned over and picked up my plate and put it in front of him. Then he continued, “I left. She kept that house and I moved into a unit that we had in the city. We meet for coffee every now and then. She is seeing someone else. They're going to have a baby.”
We sat silently for a moment.
“You see now it's a hopeless case. I love Grace. I have tried to meet other people and while they may be nice or pretty or clever, I find myself comparing them always to Grace, and that's not fair. I shall never be happy with anyone else. She is the one for me—end of story.”
Mr. Preston smiled wryly.
“So now I spend my days hoping that one day she will be herself again and knowing that she probably won't.”
Mr. Preston cleaned up the rest of my plate. He is silent because he's finished the story. I am silent because I am stunned.
I can't believe Mr. Preston knows the lyrics of songs by Melanie C.
Jan poked her head through the doorway from the living room, nearly giving me a heart attack.
“Hello there! I knocked, but there was no answer. I figured you must be out here. Hello, Mr. Preston, I didn't see you there. Just missed breakfast, have I? Oh, well, never mind, eh?”
Mr. Preston piled all the plates on the tray. “Can I get you coffee?”
“Oh, yes, please, darl. That would be lovely.”
“More coffee, chum?” asked Mr. Preston over his shoulder, as he carried the tray inside.
“Yes, please.”
“Well now,” said Jan, sitting down and adjusting her uniform, “how's our patient today? I understand we've got some dressings to change?”
Mr. Preston came back with a fresh jug of coffee, and we sat outside for a while longer. Mr. Preston made small talk with Jan while we finished our coffees. I walked back inside to do the dishes while Jan changed Grace's dressings. Mr. Preston watched for a while and then helped dry up.
I looked at the clock. Time to go to uni. I left Mr. Preston and Jan sitting on the couch chatting and walked through the park.
I arrived at my class and sat down next to Hiro. The lecturer reminded us that we had an assignment due in a week. I asked Hiro if he would like to come over to my house and work on the assignment with me. Of course, I blushed furiously, but I got through it.
He smiled at me and said he would like that very much. I felt those shivers in my belly again. I wrote down the address and handed it to him. Our hands touched for a second. I felt electricity streaking up my arm.
Oooh, Hiro. Lay your love on me.
We agreed that I would go to the library and borrow some books and we would meet at my place in the afternoon.
I skipped home across the park singing.
Jan was ready to go when I arrived. “You look bright and chirpy this afternoon, darl,” she said with a twinkle in her eye. “Your mother rang before.”
I ran into the bathroom and put some makeup on and brushed my hair. I ran out again and looked from the front veranda.
Not here yet—good.
I ran around the house, picking up nonexistent pieces of fluff off the floor. I brushed Grace's hair and washed her face. I ran out onto the front veranda again.
Not here yet—good.
I ran into the kitchen and wrenched open the fridge. I took down a glass jug from the cupboard and filled it with ice-cold water from the fridge. I sliced up a lemon and threw it in the jug. I pulled three glasses out of the cupboard and wiped them with the tea towel until they were sparkling.
I ran out onto the front veranda.
I could see Hiro wandering along the street with his bag hung over one shoulder, the other hand in the pocket of his baggy shorts.
I ran back into the bathroom to check on my makeup and my hair. I flew out of the bathroom and hurled myself on the couch. I lay there with one hand behind my head, looking casual.
I heard Hiro open the front gate. I could hear his footfall on the path, up the stairs and onto the veranda. He knocked on the door.
I lay on the couch with my heart thumping in my chest.
Don't want to appear too eager. One elephant, two elephant, three elephant.
I stood up and poked my head down the hallway.
“Oh, hello!” I said, trying to sound as if I had forgotten he was coming. “Come in.”
Hiro sauntered down the hallway and threw his bag on the couch.
“This is a very nice home,” he said, smiling that beautiful, wide, friendly smile.
“Oh, yes …”
Think of something witty to say, think of something witty to say.
My mind was a blank. We stood in the living room beaming at each other.
“Won't you come and sit down? I'll just grab a drink.” I pulled one of the dining chairs out, casually, as I walked past. It caught on the edge of the carpet and fell over backward.
I picked the chair up and did a silly little jig thing that I can't bear to think about.
I walk toward him to the kitchen. At the same time, he walks toward me to sit in the chair. We find ourselves standing about fifty centimeters apart. I move to the right, he moves to the right. I move to the left, he moves to the left. I find myself doing one of those stilted bush-dance moves we were forced to do in physical education.
“Do the do-si-do,” I shout. I skip around him. Of course they don't do-si-do in Taiwan so as I'm moving backward dancing feverishly, I run into him and knock him onto the couch. He lies there looking surprised.
I can't bear to think about it.
As I am standing there looking at him flailing about on the couch, I can feel a huge blush coming. I run into the kitchen and shove my head in the fridge to hide my blush.
It's not going away! The blush is not going away!
I take out the jug of water. I'm trying to keep my back to him. I step back and feel something squishy under my foot. I move back another step and run into him again, because he's standing right behind me. I look down and bang into him with my bottom. Fresh hot streaks of blush flood into my cheeks.
The squishy thing is his foot. He's trying to move backward, but I'm still standing on his foot so he falls over again.
This is going very badly.
I step off his foot but get tangled in his other leg. I fall over. I've still got the jug in my hand and as I'm falling I pour the ice-cold water and the lemons onto Hiro.
This is going very, very, very badly.
We're sitting on the kitchen floor in a heap. Our legs are tangled up. Hiro is drenched. He's got a piece of lemon on his shoulder.
I start to laugh. He starts to laugh. We roll around on the kitchen floor holding our bellies and laughing.
I look up and Grace is standing in the living room looking at us.
I stand up and put my hand out to help
Hiro up. He smiles at me. “Can I trust you?” he asks me. I pull him up and he shakes the water out of his hair.
Oh, oh, oh, I want to hear you say, I love ya, uh ha.
I introduce Hiro to Grace. He puts his hand out. He looks surprised and embarrassed when she looks the other way.
“Grace is brain-damaged,” I explain to him.
“Oh … what happened?” he asks me.
“She had an accident.” “What kind of accident?”
I look at him blankly. “I don't know. I have never asked.”
I can hear Bill's voice in my head. “She had had herself a stroke or some such.”
I've never asked!
I move Grace over to her chair. Prickles limps in the back door.
“The cat had an accident, too?” Hiro asks me.
“Yes,” I say as I pick Prickles up and put him gently on Grace's lap.
“Everyone has had an accident around you,” he says, frowning.
This strikes me as hilariously funny. What, does he think I'm some kind of female version of Frank Spencer? Does he think I gave Grace brain damage and ruptured the cat's guts (oowa Betty) in some kind of sitcom slapstick routine? I start to laugh again. Hiro looks at me, perplexed. I'm doubled over, holding my stomach. Hiro starts to smile and soon he is laughing too.
When we had recovered, we sat at the dining table and worked on our assignment for about an hour. When Hiro concentrated he would frown and poke his tongue out a little bit.
After we had finished our assignment, we sat out in the back under the shade of the creeper. He put his leg up on the seat next to him. I could see the muscle in his calf flex and relax, flex and relax.
I was mesmerized.
“I first noticed the smell is very different. I smell the, what you call, eucalypt. The air is much more dry here.”
We talked for a long time. I watched him smile and laugh. I watched him frown and look sad as he talked about his family and friends at home. His skin is smooth and caramel-colored.
He is so beautiful.
As the sun started to fade, Hiro stood up and stretched.
He walked back into the house to pack up his books. “I am playing cello tomorrow evening, at the park—six o'clock. Would you like to see?”
“I would love to!”
“Would Grace like to come?”
“I think she would.”
He smiled, and said, “But not the cat.”
I laughed. “No, I won't bring the cat.”
As he sauntered off down the street I skipped around the lounge room, singing.
Say I love you, say I need you, say all the things that people say when love is new.
I skipped over to where Grace was sitting and planted a big kiss on her forehead.
“We have a date, Grace!”
I sat down at the dining table, where he had been sitting. I sat there thinking about his smile and his muscly calves.
I wondered what it would be like tomorrow. Busking with Hiro.
Later that night, when I had calmed down, I rang my mother.
“What happened to Anna?” I asked her.
“Who?”
“Anna. Remember? They used to live next door.”
“Oh,” said my mother. “Her parents were teachers. They got a transfer somewhere down south, I think.”
“Can you remember where?” I asked.
“Oh, was it Kiama? Somewhere around there. Why the sudden interest?”
“I was just thinking, you know. Anna and I were good friends and I just wondered what happened to her, that's all. I haven't had that many good friends and I thought I might look her up and see how she is.”
“Good for you,” said my mother.
I made myself a pint of coffee and sat down in Grace's study with the spooky box in front of me.
Grace was pregnant when she had the accident. Mr. Preston knew she was pregnant or he wouldn't have said “both of them” when he talked about how the accident was his fault. Mr. Preston said it was his fault.
I can hear Hiro's casual inquiry, “Oh … what happened?” echo in my head.
I never asked!
Why have I never asked? I've never asked because I thought it would be rude, like staring, like commenting on someone's weight gain—one just doesn't.
I remember standing in a line at a shop when I was about three or four years old. There was a woman in front of us. I observed her for a while, quietly hugging my mother's thigh, and then I looked up to my mother and said in a loud voice, “Look, Mummy, hasn't that lady got big boobs?” My mother went scarlet. The woman with the big boobs went scarlet.
“Shhh!” said my mother. I started to protest, “But she has, Mummy, look.” I pointed with one chubby finger.
“Quiet now, darling, you don't talk about those sorts of things,” said my mother.
“Why?”
“You just don't.”
I lifted the lid from the spooky box and removed the ribbon-bound bundle.
Then I picked out the next sheet of paper and read.
No one can have their cake and eat it too.
We are not just having our cake, my love. We are sitting here in the candlelight, hiding here in the dark, digging our arms up to our elbows in luscious chocolate syrup and smearing jam and cream over our faces.
One day, one fine day, my delicious friend, someone is going to notice the crumbs on your chin. Someone is going to comment on the wildberry sauce on your shirtsleeve.
The difference we can make now is to choose, and to choose now to stop. Or, if not stop, then limit our appetite to the occasional brandy snap. Or if not stop, then …
Does the word “marriage” frighten you?
This is not just a wise choice but an essential one. Because those living on dry bread and tepid water will protest, loudly, if they find out what we are supping on here in the dark.
Go now, my delectable love, licking your fingers and wiping your mouth on the back of your wrist, and do not return, unless you plan to bring to me that shiny band of gold that would make our feasting so much less abhorrent to our associates.
Today is the day of my date with Hiro.
I thought I would make up a picnic for us to eat tonight. There is a picnic basket on top of the kitchen cupboards. It has four plates and cutlery and plastic glasses strapped to the lid with little leather straps. It has a blue and green lining that unfolds into a little tablecloth.
I dress Grace and we walk down to the delicatessen. “Hello there, little chicken,” says the Italian lady. “What can I do for you today?”
I buy some Tasmanian cheese, a big crusty loaf and some cold meats. I buy olives and roasted tomatoes.
I walk to the bottle shop and buy a bottle of white wine and a big bottle of water.
Grace and I walk home with our purchases. I sing loudly as we walk along the street.
“I thought that we would just be friends, things will never be the same again.”
I can't seem to get that song out of my head.
At home, I pack my little picnic basket and take a blanket out of the linen cupboard.
I flick through Grace's wardrobe, looking for something to wear. I put on a long green dress and a little white cardigan. I pull my hair back into a ponytail.
I'm walking out the door and I suddenly have a thought. I run back and grab a bottle of insect repellent from under the sink.
Grace and I walk to the park carrying our picnic basket and blanket. As we turn the corner out of our street I can see a few other people with baskets and blankets.
Maybe there is something else on tonight? Oh well, at least we have the picnic basket.
As we approach the park I can see people flocking through the gates. The grass area is half-filled with blankets. Corks are popping left, right and center. There are fairy lights around the rotunda. It has been set up as a makeshift bar. The teahouse is packed.
I look around for Hiro. I'm never going to find him in this crowd.
B
etween the teahouse and the rotunda a scaffolding stage has been set up. There are speakers on either side. There are people in tuxedos wandering around the stage and roadies hitching up microphones.
“Rachel.” I hear a voice behind me. Mr. Preston's brother, Anthony, is reclining on a blanket to my left.
“Oh, hello there.”
“You look lovely tonight,” he says, smiling that big gorgeous smile.
I've always been afraid of gorgeous people. They have that smugness about them. They make me feel gangly and silly.
“Come and sit with me for a while,” says Anthony.
“Oh,” I say.
Think of an excuse, quickly, before you fall over or do something stupid.
“I see my brother has got to you and told you what a roguish fellow I am,” he said, grinning. “I don't bite, unless you want me to.”
“Oh, um, no. He hasn't said anything. It's just that I'm supposed to be meeting someone else here.”
“Fair enough,” he said, looking out at the crowd.
“Rachel” booms over the loudspeaker; then there is a squeak as the microphone feeds back.
I look around, startled.
“Well, anyway, I'm not such a bad fellow,” he said with that grin again. “Maybe sometime we could go out and you could find out for yourself?”
“Oh,” I say, surprised. Is he asking me out? “Maybe.”
“Rachel” comes out of the loudspeaker again. I look up at the stage. There is Hiro, standing in the middle of the stage, grinning and waving at me with both arms. He is wearing a tuxedo. His hair is pulled back in a ponytail. Roadies are crowded around him, plugging in leads and taping things down with electrical tape. When Hiro said he played the cello, I didn't know that he meant he was really good.
I wave back vigorously.
“I have to go,” I say, turning back to Anthony.
He nods and smiles. “Another time then?”
I don't answer. Instead I smile back and walk away, dragging Grace behind me by the arm, weaving our way between the blankets to the stage.
Finding Grace Page 13
