by Amy Andrews
She dressed warmly in a tracksuit and roused a sleeping Fonzie, driving down to the main street and pulling up out the front of the fish-and-chip shop, more for something to do than for any nutritional reason. The crumbed fish and hot chips looked great and smelt fantastic, but as usual Fran struggled to be interested.
Her appetite was appalling. She ate because she knew that her body had to fulfil certain biological functions to keep going and for that it needed fuel—but that was it. Fran had totally lost her love of food. The pure and utter joy that eating something wonderful gave your soul. The aromas, the tastes, the textures. Eating had become purely functional.
She had lost weight. Too much weight. But try as she may she was only capable of nibbling. Looking at the generous portion in front of her, she knew that Fonzie was about to score well. The mere thought of such a large helping was nauseating.
She munched on a chip and looked up towards the now subtly lit façade of the nursing home and quashed a nervous pang, thinking about her two o’clock interview the next day. OK, so she hadn’t worked since Daisy had died but she’d come to Ashworth Bay to start afresh and get her life back on track. And that included a job.
Receiving her decree nisi had been just the right impetus for her to realise that her life was a shambles. Appalled by her lack of emotion towards a piece of paper that should have been devastating, she’d known she had to do something with her life or she was going to slowly wither and die.
Fonzie licked her leg and Fran dragged her attention back to him. He had such a forlorn look on his face. The smell of her food had obviously been appreciated much more by him and he gave her a little puppy bark as much as to say, Hey, what about me?
Fran scratched him behind the ears and placed the paper on the ground with most of the food untouched. A few chips and two mouthfuls of the fish had been all she’d been able to stomach. Fonzie, on the other hand, ate heartily, not stopping until every last morsel had been licked from the paper.
She gathered her stuff and drove home, Fonzie leaping out of the car as she opened the door. She gave chase and he looked back over his shoulder and barked excitedly at this great game they were playing. He ran into the neighbour’s yard through their open gate and Fran couldn’t believe it when the black ball of fur barrelled straight through the cat flap in the front door.
Great. What would be the chances that this was an elderly spinster’s house and not Miranda’s? The door opened and Fran saw Miranda, giggling as she accepted happy licks from the traitorous puppy. David was laughing, too.
‘I’m so sorry,’ Fran said, retrieving her dog from Miranda. ‘He was too quick for me. I hope he didn’t upset your cat.’
‘No fear of that,’ said David, stroking Fonzie’s back. ‘The cat is no more.’
David looked awkward and Fran guessed there was some story behind the cat.
The child gave Fonzie a big squeeze with her skinny arms and reluctantly handed him back. ‘He can come and visit any time, can’t he, Daddy?’ said Miranda.
‘Sure,’ said David, reaching out to pat Fonzie and noting Fran’s slight movement backwards. She looked like she’d rather saw off her arm than stay.
Fran smiled politely and started to back away.
‘Are you staying the night?’ asked David.
Fran froze and so did any sort of coherent thought. ‘Ah…yes.’
He laughed and it was such a lovely deep rich sound that Fran gave a surprised blink.
‘Did you sneak your furniture in when I wasn’t looking?’
‘I’ll be OK for tonight. I have a few things and Fonzie…’
‘Well, if you need anything, just yell.’
Fran looked at Miranda, her head resting against her father’s waist, a finger twirling a lock of hair, and thought, Never going to happen.
CHAPTER TWO
FRAN LAY AWAKE most of the night. So much for contentment and finding a place to heal. Meeting Miranda had been like twisting the knife that had been thrust into her heart two years ago. Of course it wasn’t possible to go through life and never have to deal with children, but did she have to live next door to one?
So much for the calming effects of waves! The therapeutic white noise of sea against sand! Every time Fran shut her eyes she could see Mirry twisting her hair around her finger and sweet, sweet Daisy’s laughter would tinkle through her head. Every cell in her body mourned the loss of her beautiful daughter.
Fran hugged herself to stop the ache in her arms. The ache that could only be assuaged by the feel and weight of Daisy’s body as she snuggled up close and said, ‘I love you, Mummy.’
She dozed off around dawn, frantic that if she didn’t get some sleep she was going to look as old and haggard as she felt these days, and the director of nursing would want to admit her as a patient instead of employing her. There was so much to do today, she needed to be on the ball.
Fonzie licked her forehead a couple of hours later and she opened her eyes as his sweet puppy breath warmed her face.
‘OK, boy,’ she said. Time to let him out. He’d been so good with his house-training. She got out of her bed reluctantly into the chilly morning air and dressed in her tracksuit from the night before. She could hear the waves calling and decided a walk on the beach would do them both good.
Some cold sea air would hopefully blast the fuzzy cotton-wool feeling from her brain and invigorate her body for the day ahead. Fonzie stood at the front door, wagging his tail, eagerly waiting for his mistress to get her act together. He barked impatiently and Fran acknowledged it’d be just as good for him—give him a much-needed outlet for all his crazy puppy energy.
David was standing at his bay window when Fran and Fonzie passed by. He watched her as she walked down to the beach and smiled as the small puppy dragged her up and down the beach repeatedly. Even at this distance her body language gave away her profound grief.
Her shoulders were hunched, her head bowed, her steps shuffling. She was totally missing the beauty that surrounded her as she stared fixedly at the sand. The sun sparkled on the calm blue ocean like a generous god had thrown armfuls of diamonds into the sea and the cloudless blue sky arced perfectly down to the horizon as if drawn by someone who not only appreciated beauty but symmetry.
What was Fran’s story? Something had caused her immense grief. Recently, too, unless her trauma was so deep, so awful, she’d been unable to move through the grief process. She was here alone. A messy break-up? A death? Who—a lover, a parent, a sibling?
‘Oh, look, Daddy, it’s Fran and Fonzie.’ Miranda pointed. ‘Can I play with him when they come back?’
David couldn’t explain it but, watching the hunched figure on the beach, he suddenly felt as if he knew Fran. He didn’t know her story but he knew her pain and every fibre of his being was urging him to not give up on her but to persist. To be patient and kind and help her see that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.
He knew that better than anybody. He was a perfect living example of the sentiment ‘This, too, will pass’. He sighed. Helping Fran wasn’t going to be easy but in a strange kind of way it almost felt like his destiny.
David smiled down at his daughter and shook his head. For some reason he couldn’t articulate, he was reluctant to let Mirry unleash herself on Fran. He had noticed his new neighbour’s reaction to his daughter yesterday and Fran definitely didn’t want to get involved.
Although maybe a grab-life-by-the-tail-and-swing-around-wildly type of twelve-year-old girl was just what Fran needed. Maybe she needed someone just like Miranda to get through whatever it was, as much as he had needed her to get through his stuff.
‘You have to get to school, madam, and I have to go to work.’ He tapped her freckled nose. ‘Have you taken your meds?’
‘Yes, Daddy,’ she said, rolling her eyes at him. ‘You ask me that every morning.’
‘That’s because I love you and they’re—’
‘Important. I know.’
She gave he
r father a cheeky grin and ran off to get dressed for school. David felt his heart contract as it spilled over with love for his precious daughter. He turned back to the solitary figure on the beach, feeling a strange affinity for the mysterious Fran.
David knew what it felt like to be swamped with a grief that was so black and dark you couldn’t fight your way through it. Didn’t even want to try. Couldn’t care whether you lived or died. In fact, dying was an attractive alternative. To be at peace, to not have to bear the pain any more….
Fran made herself a cup of tea from the limited supplies she had brought with her yesterday and sat at the bay window. She pulled her legs up and cradled the mug between her hands and her knees, grateful for the warmth seeping into her numb fingers.
The beach had certainly blasted out the cobwebs but it didn’t take long on a winter’s morning to feel chilled to the bone. She blew absently at the hot brew and was grateful to Fonzie when he leapt up to join her, plonking himself over her feet.
She stared at the nursing home on the cliff opposite and wondered what it would be like to work there. She’d never really had any geriatric experience and she hoped it wouldn’t go against her. Oh, she’d done the regulation amount during her training but it hadn’t been her cup of tea. The faster-paced, more exciting specialties had been more her forte.
Still, even if it was boring, it was work. Five days a week where she could take a break from her own problems, get her mind off her life and the things that had happened. Staying at home and moping may have been all she’d been capable of for a long time, but it hadn’t done her any good. If she wanted to recover then she had to get back into life. And people worked.
Her stomach growled at her but she knew she couldn’t face anything. She got up and made herself another cup of tea instead, sitting back in the bay window. The sun streamed through the glass and gradually warmed her up, and she felt herself drifting off to sleep.
A loud blaring of a truck’s horn woke her about fifteen minutes later and she was grateful that she’d finished her tea or she would have been wearing it. She checked her watch—eight o’clock already!
The rest of the morning passed in a daze of furniture and boxes and directing big strong strapping men. She worked solidly for hours, grabbing a few cups of tea along the way because she was too busy to stop. And, anyway, the cupboards were bare. She would have to do some grocery shopping after her interview.
Fonzie thought the whole exercise was a great lark. The movers had indulged him and he had run around happily, playing with all the packing paper and exploring empty boxes. Fran hoped he would be OK at the cottage without her for the couple of hours she would be away. The yard was fully fenced and he’d no doubt have a ball. But what if he fretted? What if he barked and upset the neighbourhood because he missed her? She’d only had him for a few weeks but the thought of him being lonely and sad was unbearable.
Fran fussed about what to wear. Nothing in her wardrobe fit her anymore and she really hadn’t been in the mood for shopping for a long time. Ordinarily these days what she put on didn’t even register—she just grabbed whatever came to hand. But this was an interview. She may have been out of touch with the world but she was sure you still had to make a good impression.
She decided on a pair of navy dress trousers, a turtle-necked white top and a matching blue jacket. They hung on her a bit but the jacket mostly concealed that fact. She tied her hair back into a plait to hide its could-really-do-with-a-wash status. She’d run out of time this morning and anyway…it’d only been a few days.
Looking at herself critically in the bathroom mirror, Fran knew she should put on some make-up to add a bit of colour to her pale face. But she’d got out of the habit and doubted whether it would disguise much anyway. It’d probably just emphasise the things she was trying to hide.
It shouldn’t matter what she looked like anyway. She wasn’t going for a photo shoot or a job as a supermodel. How she looked and whether she wore make-up or not should be completely immaterial. She applied a quick coat of gloss to conceal the dryness of her lips but left it at that.
Fran took the five-minute drive around the headland and pulled up in the car park of the Ashworth Bay Nursing Home with a few minutes to spare. As she climbed out of the car she felt light-headedness wash over her and she gripped the car door for a few seconds until it passed. Come on, Franny, pull yourself together. Don’t let nerves stuff this up!
The extensive grounds and magnificent gardens were hard to ignore as she walked on shaky legs up the path that led to the front door. Rose bushes lined either side.
A little old lady came rushing out the door towards her, handbag in tow, surprisingly spritely for someone who looked to be in her eighties at least. Her deeply lined face was creased with concern and her thinning white hair looked wild against her worried face.
‘Oh, my dear, can you help me?’ the woman asked, reaching out to Fran with a wrinkled hand. Her voice had an audible quaver and it was clear that the woman was extremely agitated about something as Fran clasped the old lady’s hand.
‘Goodness, my dear,’ she said, looking at Fran with keen insight, ‘you look terrible and have the coldest hands. You need to get in by the fire. Pa’s just stoking it. Don’t stay outdoors too long. Never know when there’ll be another air raid.’
Fran blinked at the woman’s astuteness and then again at her rapid switch in lucidity. Obviously the woman had fairly questionable mental faculties. ‘A fire sounds…lovely,’ Fran said carefully. ‘How about you join me?’
‘What?’ The lady looked wildly at her. ‘No, no, I can’t. The children, I’ve lost the children. Little devils are always running off. I have to find them.’
Fran was saved further intervention by a young woman in a uniform who hurried up to them.
‘Ethel, it’s OK. The kids are still at school. It’s not time for them to be home yet,’ she said.
She was gentle and kind with Ethel and she winked at Fran.
‘Oh? Really? Goodness me, I thought it was later than that. Better go get their tea ready, then.’
‘That’s the shot,’ the woman said as she escorted Ethel back inside and Fran followed. ‘You are a full-time job,’ she chided the old woman good-naturedly as they entered the imposing white building. ‘You sure keep me on my toes.’
Ethel cackled and said, ‘Gotta keep you young ’uns guessing.’
Fran was grateful to get inside. It was a typical sunny Queensland winter’s day outside, but as Fran had no natural body insulation anymore, she always seemed to feel cold.
‘Can I help you?’
Fran turned to see a glass window to her right that had a reception sign mounted on the counter. The woman who had spoken sat behind it and assessed Fran curiously. She was a short, thin, mousy woman with a pair of granny glasses perched on her nose and a drab cardigan. She reminded Fran of the stereotypical image of a librarian. Or a stern old-fashioned schoolmarm.
‘Ah, yes,’ Fran said, and gave the receptionist a small smile. ‘I have an appointment to see Glenda Hopkins.’
‘Sit over there.’ She indicated the chairs against the opposite wall and picked up the phone.
Fran felt like she’d been caught smoking behind the bike sheds at school and was waiting to be called into the principal’s office! But she sat because whoever the receptionist was, it didn’t take Fran too long to figure out that she ruled the roost.
‘Matron will see you now. Up the stairs, turn left, office at the end of the corridor.’
Matron? Fran got up as another wave of dizziness hit her. Matrons had gone out years ago. Was this the kind of place she would be working? Where a stern receptionist and a woman who insisted on using an ancient title ran the show? She felt her convictions wane. She didn’t need the job that badly!
Fran’s stomach growled again and she was almost sick with nerves as she knocked quietly on the door. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Fran heard a voice commanding entry and she
took a deep steadying breath. She couldn’t back out now.
The first thing Fran noticed was the absolutely gorgeous view from floor-to-ceiling windows. The office fronted the ocean and the one-eighty-degree views were to die for. The room was very spacious and Fran wondered if it had been one of the suites many years ago.
‘Fabulous, isn’t it?’
Fran dragged her eyes away from the view and took in Glenda Hopkins. She was nothing like the matron she had imagined. Sure, she was plump with a great big bosom but that’s where the similarities ended. Her cheeks were rosy and her eyes twinkled and a huge smile was spread across her face, dimpling her chin.
She looked about fifty, not ninety-six as Fran had imagined, and…friendly. After worrying she was going to be one of those horrible cold crones from her student nurse days who had made their lives miserable, Fran wanted to go right over to Glenda and hug her.
Glenda burst out laughing at the surprised look on Fran’s face. ‘Not what you were expecting, huh?’
‘Not exactly, no.’
Glenda waved her in and led her over to three wing chairs in an alcove near one of the windows. A small coffee-table sat in the middle laden with a tray carrying a tea pot, teacups and a plate of chocolate biscuits.
‘Don’t mind Catherine. She looks scary but she’s a doll when you get to know her.’
A doll? Well, now, that would be an interesting metamorphosis to witness!
‘She’s just a little formal with outsiders and a bit set in her ways, but she runs this place very efficiently. I’d be lost without her, frankly.’
Fran nodded, wondering how long she had to work here before she wasn’t considered an outsider. She was afraid to ask in case the answer was given in decades.
